


Sparks Fly: The Seduction of Peter Parker

by DownfallSavior, MySedai



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-03-01 12:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 139,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18799927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DownfallSavior/pseuds/DownfallSavior, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MySedai/pseuds/MySedai
Summary: AU As he nears his college graduation, a 22 year old Peter Parker takes an internship at Stark Industries working with Tony Stark in preparation for his upcoming role with the Avengers. Sparks fly between the two, and love finds them in the strangest of ways.





	1. Chapter 1

  


Spring break. Beaches. Time of bikinis and body shots and bad decisions.

 

Unless you’re Peter Parker. Then, you’re on an R&D internship with Stark Industries, working on new tech to help the Team. The Avengers. Of which he will soon be a card-carrying member, and not just a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Like, at the end of this semester kind of soon, so he’s got a good reason to be thinking of tech instead of the aforementioned body shots.

 

Only he’s not.

 

“Hey, Mr. Stark?” he calls out across the lab, setting down some components. “What do you think MJ is doing right about now?” he asks nervously, because the two are on a break, like on that old tv show his Aunt May likes to watch in reruns.

 

“MJ is probably sitting alone, in her room, staring at a picture of you on her cell phone, while listening to some really smooth slow jams,” Tony says in a distracted tone. Almost…. Got it.

 

Tony grins excitedly as he steps back from the model on display, adjusting his tech glasses when they try to slide down the bridge of his nose. “Just kidding. She’s wearing a bikini on a beach, getting hit on by some meathead. And that’s life.” Elated, and only half paying attention to the things he’s saying, he steps forward again and starts taking the holographic model apart in the air.

 

“No, but for serious, what do you think she’s doing?” Peter worries, stepping around the research bench to see what Tony’s up to. “That’s going to short out, if you don’t do something about the static inhibitors,” he advises in the moment before it does and the model fizzles away into thin air.

 

Dark eyes slide their gaze to Peter in the moments after the model fizzles away. “Good catch. Well. Sorta catch. It might have been nice to get a warning before I had to start all over again,” he says, then hands Peter his tech gloves, before taking off the glasses and carefully setting them on the young man’s face. “You give it a try, and I’ll try to dig up my inner young woman so I can tell you all about what MJ is _actually_ doing.”

 

“Ned won’t let her do anything _stupid_ right, Mr. Stark?” he asks, sliding into the gloves and working on building a new model. He zooms in on the static inhibitors, isolating them from the rest of the simulation, and gets to work on tweaking them to work well enough to handle the weight of the project. “Not that MJ’s stupid,” Peter backpedals quickly. “But, you know. Tequila.”

 

“What do you know about tequila?” Tony asks the young man. Sure, Peter’s old enough to drink, but he just doesn’t strike him as the sort of person that actually does it. He’s too busy getting straight A’s, or saving New York, with about 1% of his time left to have a sometimes girlfriend. “When do you even drink? While you sleep? Wait- You don’t sleep.”

 

Peter guffaws at that. “Mr. Stark, everything I know about tequila comes from the fact that there are a _lot_ of songs about girls drinking it and taking their clothes off.” He’s had a few drinks, since he came to college, but it turns out the whole spider thing really helps him metabolize alcohol. He’d had to fake staggering around after a frat party, so nobody got suspicious that he wasn’t drunk after his third drink. He figures it can be done, but not without some really dedicated drinking.

 

“Wait. You know about tequila from _songs_?” Tony asks. He shouldn’t be surprised, now that he’s just stated the kid doesn’t have time to drink, but it’s a little heartbreaking to have the reality spelled out for him like that. “That’s it. We’re going to the bar. And I don’t mean my bar upstairs. I mean an actual place you go to, to pick up women, or die in a fire trying.”

 

Peter’s mouth drops with the declaration. “Uh, Mr. Stark, are you feeling alright? Because you just said we’re going to a bar and it’s 4 pm on a Tuesday and this static inhibitor _really_ needs some work,” he babbles, waiting for the older man to correct himself and say get back to work.

 

There’s a brief pause as Tony considers this. “Okay, we pregame first, because right now there’s only old men like me at the bar, drinking away their miseries. No girls,” Tony tells the kid, before clapping him on the shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “Then, after we’re drunk enough to think it’s a great idea, we head out to the bars.” Bar seems to have become bars in one fell swoop. Tony is intending to party, so help him Loki-Jesus.

 

“Pregame?” Peter asks helplessly, looking at Mr. Stark. He doesn’t have to look up anymore, not after that last growth spurt before the end of high school, at least. “Like, we’re going to a football game? Do they even play football this time of year, because I thought that was a fall thing.” They pregamed before college games, a few times, him and MJ and Ned and a few others at Columbia, so he’s not completely oblivious to how it’s done.

 

“Sure. That. We’re going to do that, expect it’s going to be in my penthouse, at the bar, with lots of Tequila,” Tony deadpans. “Come on,” he says a moment later, already walking in the direction of the elevators.

 

“Ending the work day early, Boss?” Friday chimes in over the speakers in the room.

 

“You know, that’s getting creepy,” Tony informs the A.I. He looks back over his shoulder, and motions with an arm. “Come on, kid. We’re getting drunk.”

 

Peter scrabbles the gloves off, and the model goes dark. Two steps away from the table, he remembers the glasses and pulls them off, tossing them lightly to land atop the gloves. He trots to the elevator and steps into it beside Tony. “Are you sure about this, because it’s gonna take a _lot_ to get me drunk. It’s that spider thing, I think. I went to a frat party once...” he babbles the story to him as the elevator takes them up to the penthouse.

 

“Challenge accepted,” Tony says when Peter pauses for breath from his babbling. He walks out into the penthouse after the elevator doors open to the correct floor, heading straight for the bar. “If tequila doesn’t work, I’ve got absinthe. That’ll do the job, or I’m considering alternative substances.” No one challenges Tony Stark and expects any less than him going all out, right?

 

Right.

 

With that, he gets behind the bar, and takes a bottle of tequila from the freezer. All of his hard alcohol is kept in said clear glass freezer, while the mixers and beers are in the fridge beside it. Then there’s the stuff on tap. Tony doesn’t really need to go anywhere to have a good time, and it’s a little sad, when he thinks too hard about it.

 

“You know how to do tequila shots, kid?” he asks, digging around for some limes after setting a salt shaker on the bar top.

 

“Isn’t there something about licking your hand and sucking some lime?” Peter screws up his face in thought. “Like, I saw it once at a party, but it didn’t make much sense. I just drank some vodka, which tasted bad, but didn’t require me to lick my hand.”

 

“Look, unless you want to lick _my_ hand, you’re licking your hand, and we’re doing this,” Tony says to be a smartass before it strikes him how wrong that sounded. Tame, on the grand spectrum of things he’s said to people before, but still wrong, given the recipient of the phrasing. He doesn’t backpedal though, instead slicing the limes he’s found and setting everything up for the shots.

 

“If you’re sure about this, Mr. Stark,” Peter say, nervously as he looks over the stuff on the bar. It’s not so scary. It’s just sodium chloride and a lime and some south of the border baby formula. He can do this.

 

“Definitely,” Tony says, then demonstrates. “You lick your hand,” he starts out, licking his hand in the webbing between the thumb and forefinger. “Pour on the salt,” he adds, sprinkling the salt onto the wet skin. “Pick up your shot,” he says, picking up his glass. “Then you lick, shoot, and suck. Got it?”

 

“Lick, shoot, and suck. Yes, sir, Mr. Stark. I got it.” Ever eager to please, Peter does as he’s told, until he’s ready and holding up his shot with Tony. “Do we say a toast, or just drink? Because it seems like we should say a toast, it being my first shot and all.”

 

Wow. It really sounds dirty when Peter says the process, especially with the ‘sir’ peppered in there, and the ‘Mr. Stark’. Maybe Tony shouldn’t teach the kid to talk like that. Might get him in trouble someday.

 

Whatever, it’s amusing.

 

Oh, a toast. Right.

 

“We should definitely toast. I’d say, ‘Salude,’ would suffice, if this wasn’t your first shot, but since it is, we should come up with something special,” Tony decides, considering, then lifting his shot a fraction higher. “To straight A’s, saving New York, and being gracious when MJ comes crawling back to you,” Tony declares, before tapping his glass against the kid’s. One lick, shoot, and suck later, the job is done, and Tony’s leaning on an elbow on the bar counter. There’s not even a grimace for the shot, because Tony buys the really expensive tequila that goes down smooth.

 

Tony may be smooth and casual, but Peter coughs as the heat of the liquor comes flashing up his throat, once the shot’s gone down. He reaches blindly for something to drink to take the edge off and ends up with the bottle of tequila in his hands, glugging down a big mouthful, before he realizes his error.

 

“Wa-” Tony begins to say, reaching toward the bottle, but Peter’s just plain faster. The older man drops his hand, and sighs, going about getting the kid some water before he makes himself sick. “Here. Trade ya,” he says, taking the bottle from the sputtering Peter’s hands and replacing it with the opened bottle of cold water.

 

Peter chugs at the water, downing half the bottle in a gulp. “Wow,” he manages when he’s finished, “I guess the spider thing doesn’t help with the taste, huh, Mr. Stark? You looked cool doing, it though.”

 

“You’re going to look cool, too, kid. Just takes a little practice,” Tony tells him, already going about setting up the next shot. He takes a long drink from the bottle, too, while he’s at it, so they’re even. Not that he thinks he’ll be able to totally keep up with the kid, given the spider thing, but he’s going to try. “Hokay, ready?” he asks, holding up his shot, salt and lime in position.

 

“Ready, Mr. Stark!” Peter says, licking his hand, then sprinkling it with the salt and taking up the little glass. This time he’s going to try to hold it together long enough to get to the lime step. Maybe it helps. “ _Salude_!” he cheers before he licks the salt, slams the shot, and manages to suck the lime with only a grimace to show for the action. “Hey, look! I did it!”

 

“You did great, kid,” Tony tells him. “You didn’t even need to chase it down with more water.” So that’s… two shots, plus the giant swallow of tequila he drank straight from the bottle. Whoa. Tony must be getting old, because he’s starting the feel it. Dark eyes focus on the young man before him, that seems cheerful and bright, but not the least bit drunk.

 

With a deep breath, Tony sets up the next shots, salt, and lime. This goes on for a total of six shots plus what they drank from the bottle, before Tony is bowing over the bar counter with a sharp breath. “Are you…? You’re not even a little bit drunk, are you?” he asks very slowly, trying not to slur.

 

“Not yet. Maybe a little fuzzy. I feel a little bit silly, I guess. I could start drinking two to one. Or three to one. That’ll probably catch me up,” he explains, sheepish. He goes ahead and pours himself two more shots, to get started on this three to one thing he’s planning on doing, just to see if he even _can_ get really drunk.

“That… sounds like a bad idea,” Tony warns him, before straightening up. He clears his throat. “So of course, I like it, and we’re going to do that.” He licks his own hand and gets the salt ready on it, then holds up his shot. “Kid, this is about to suck for you.” Because three shots in a row? That’s not the most fun taste in the world.

 

“Maybe I could have something to chase my shots with?” he whines a little, because they’d given him kool-aid as a chaser at the frat party he went to. He doubts Mr. Stark has any kool-aid in his penthouse, but maybe he has a Sprite or something he can use to wash the rust and blood flavor of the tequila out of his mouth.

 

“What. Do you know. About chasers,” Tony states more than asks, before turning and getting him a can of Coke, because that’s something he likes to mix his booze with on occasion. “Here. No more whining.” He clears his throat, blinks hard, and lifts his shot glass again, waiting for the kid to be ready.

 

Peter takes up two of the shots, one in each hand, and nods. “Ready,” he says taking a deep breath and rapid-fire shooting the tequila, then biting down on the lime. That little wedge of lime doesn’t do much to ease the flavor, so he chases it with the Coke, grinning afterward. “What do I know about chasers, Mr. Stark? I know they make shots bearable, especially when you’re drinking three to one.”

 

“Are you- Did you just-” Tony starts to ask a full question twice, before wetting his lips, and throwing his head back to laugh. “Kid, I didn’t know you knew how to talk shit. At least not to me. I’d keep up, but then this party would be me on the floor, and you calling an am-ba-lamb for me.” Tony just said am-ba-lamb instead of ambulance. Alrighty then. He’s officially drunk.

 

The man sways a bit where he stands, still in the spot where he can play bartender, work-roughened palms slapping down on the bar counter to steady himself. Then he squints at the empty bottle of tequila, before leaning in toward Peter. “We finished the bottle, and you drank more of it than I did. How does it feel?”

 

“Feels good, Mr. Stark,” Peter says quietly, thinking about how if he was just going to play hooky and get drunk, he should have skipped the internship and gone to Cancun with MJ and Ned. He blinks away the thought and smiles over at Tony. “How are you feeling? Ready for that root canal yet?”  


“I need an energy drank,” Tony says, stifling a yawn. “Otherwise, we’re never making it to the bars.” He turns, and picks out one from the fridge. “You want one, too, kid? Not that I think you need it, with the spidey thing and all, but thought I’d offer.”

 

“No, I’m good with my Coke,” Peter says, waving his drink in Tony’s general direction, then having a sip of it. “I don’t think MJ and I are getting back together this time, Mr. Stark,” he says quietly, his voice a little slow. “I want to be wrong, but I feel it in that place where I feel things with my spider senses. You ever feel like that?”

 

Tony’s in the middle of powering down his energy drink, so he holds up a hand, index finger up, to indicate he needs a few seconds. Once it’s done, he thoughtfully eyes the can. “Don’t do what I just did. It can cause heart issues. Something I don’t have to worry about, but you might,” he says, his voice sounding a little stronger, more normal, now that he doesn’t have that drunk, exhausted feeling so much anymore. Then he considers Peter’s question, folding his arms on the counter, and leaning against it. “Sometimes you just know something. Yeah, I get that, sometimes.” He pauses. “You think there’s a reason behind why you two aren’t getting back together?”

 

“I think she’s going to find somebody else,” he says quietly. “Somebody who can take her out and not be on alert for bad guys and end of the world scenarios. Who can go for a walk in Central Park without having to stop to run down a mugger, you know? She’s probably with him right now. And, I’m alone.” He’s not _alone_ , alone. He’s with Mr. Stark, but that’s not making him less lonely.

 

“So, basically you’re saying she’s going to leave you for a guy that isn’t a superhero badass, right?” Tony asks him point blank. “Because that’s what you are. Girls dig superhero badasses. They don’t want Johnny the Guy With a Man Purse that gets mugged. They want Peter the guy that chases the mugger down and gets that purse back.”

 

“Not MJ,” Peter says morosely, staring down at his Coke. “She never cared for the superhero thing one way or the other. And the last few times I left a date to chase down the bad guys, she was really mad when I got back. But not, like, that kind of mad where you yell. The kind where you act like everything’s fine, but you don’t invite your boyfriend up at the end of the night.”

 

“Oh. That’s hard, kid. You know what fixes all of that?” Tony asks, watching the sad young man thoughtfully. He can relate to what the kid’s going through, really. Pepper doesn’t care about him being Iron Man. Pepper wants dates. She wants time. She wants 100% of a moment, not 12% of one. That’s why she dropped him again, and this time, didn’t look back.

 

“Maybe Wanda and Viz have it right. Date inside the circle. At least you know the other person would actually _get_ you, right, Mr. Stark?” Peter looks up at the the other man before it filters through his fogged brain that Tony asked him a question. “Sorry. What fixes all that stuff?”

 

“You do what you figure she’s doing anyway. You get yourself a replacement model. Nothing soothes a broken heart like the next girl to fawn all over you,” Tony tells him, before thinking about what Peter said. “And, yeah, maybe a superhero of some kind, or, hell, at least a first responder. They’re totally superheroes.”

 

“What about you? Are you looking for a replacement Pepper? Because I don’t know where I’d even go to find a replacement MJ. Like, is there a specialty dating store I don’t know about?” Peter asks, cracking a wide smile, because things are starting to seem funny. Specialty dating store. He cracks him up.

 

“Maybe I’m making one. You don’t know,” Tony says with a straight face. “Maybe I’ll make a whole store of hotties, and it’ll be generally understood to be awesome,” the drunk man states. He could do it. He could make androids. Hell, look at Vision.

 

“You made Viz, kinda,” Peter says, unwittingly echoing the thought. “Wanda could be your first testimonial for Stark Specialty Dating Store. Wait. Would you need more infinity stones for that? Because they’re _hard_ to get.”

 

“We’ll skip the stones this time. I can do it without ‘em,” Tony says confidently, before he comes from around the bar, and walks with a drunken sort of grace to the workspace nearby, picking up gloves and his glasses. They’re put on, and he pulls up the basic human shape to start. “Fuck it. Let’s make the perfect woman.”

 

Peter stands and moves to the work bench next to Tony, watching him start shifting data around. “One: I really think we should be in Japan for this to work out. Better market, and all. And, two: I’ve only ever been with MJ. I don’t want my next time to be with a robot. I don’t want it to be with anybody, at all, but when I do, I want it to be somebody, you know, special.” The younger man flushes with the admission, because he’s heard stories about Tony, when he was Peter’s age and how much tail the man was _swimming_ in. There’s no way he understands what he’s trying to say.

 

Tony tries to understand though, because figuring things out is what he does. Perhaps not surprisingly, he’s focused on the android’s brain over her body when Peter makes that admission, trying to decide how he can maximize the memory capabilities in the model so it can be, well, smarter than the average human. There’s also that special something that makes humans seem more intelligent, even if a computer brain can hold more information. Imagination. Autonomy. A dash of charm. So he keeps working, even when Peter lets him know he won’t be a customer at his future store, just to give himself something to do as he thinks.

 

“Fair enough. What do you consider special in a person?” Tony asks, because he’s going to pirate the ideas and put them into his work, and he’s genuinely curious.

 

“I want somebody I can be friends with, not just sleep with. Kind of the best of both worlds, you know?” Peter tells him quietly, watching as Tony continues with his work. It hurts a little, that he’s spilling his guts to the man’s back, but he figures that’s just Mr. Stark. Always working. Like him. “Maybe I should just go. Let you get some work done.”

 

“This? This is just me messing around,” Tony says, dismissing the model and pulling off his gloves, before taking the glass off as well, and setting them both aside. He grabs a chair and pulls it up to the bench, spinning it around backward, and straddles it. His arms fold over the back of the chair, and he rests his chin on them, dark eyes focusing on the younger man’s. “There. Now we’re having 100% of a moment. Tell me more about Miss Perfect.”

 

“I thought she looked a lot like MJ. Now, I’m not sure what I want,” the younger man goes back to the bar and roots around, before he comes up with a bottle of vodka and pours himself a shot. After he tosses it back, he makes a face and chases it with the Coke in his hand. “Tastes like rubbing alcohol, after tequila. What do _you_ want, Mr. Stark?” Maybe he can just keep modelling himself after Tony, and want what he wants, because he’s got things pretty together, so it can’t be a bad idea to want what he’s got.

 

“Good question,” Tony says, dark eyes tracking the younger man’s movements as he stays seated. He’s too drunk to consider more booze, and he’s lucky the energy drink helped perk him up to about normal levels, so he doesn’t want to push that luck and end up passing out on the floor. “I want someone smart. Maybe even a genius, if I can find one.” He pauses, then laughs, “I might be looking for myself, come to think of it. Someone that I can relate to, because they’ve lived a life like mine. Like what you said earlier. Dating in the circle of superheroes.”

 

“I’m a genius,” Peter says helpfully, before he realizes that, no, that isn’t helpful.

 

That has Tony staring at Peter, like maybe he’s just now seeing the kid. “Yeah. You are a genius,” he says slowly. “And you’re a superhero,” he adds. Great. Tony’s heading merrily down creeper lane. Poor kid. He’ll probably have to apologize at some point.

 

“So, basically, I’m the perfect woman for you. Only, you know, not a woman,” Peter says, his eyes a little hazy at this point. He offers up a lopsided grin. “That’s probably a problem, right, Mr. Stark?”

 

“I can think of at least a few problems with this scenario, but none of them are about your gender, kid,” Tony says, and oh boy, is he thinking about it now. He’s already got a private jet to hell scheduled for him when he dies. He’s not sure what the upgrade is going to be for wanting a twenty-two year old he’s practically raised from his teenage years.

 

“Oh.” Peter thinks about that for a minute, just letting it sink in while he sinks another shot. “So, what kinds of problems _do_ you see with this scenario?” he asks, because he’s curious. Painfully so, and he’s just not sure where that came from.

 

“Mostly the problem where I am an old man, you’ve been like a son to me, and I think dating you would be an abuse of power that I might have a hard time living with,” Tony says solemnly, because he needs to talk himself out of this, since the kid isn’t running away screaming yet. “The funny thing is, though, I might _enjoy_ having a hard time living with it, as long as I’m reaping all the benefits of my evil doing.”

 

“One: You’re not old. B, I mean Two: I’m glad you think of me all nice like that, but you were never a dad to me. That was my Uncle Ben. You were just my hero. Now, you’re my friend. Does that make things easier to live with, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, chancing a quick look up from his Coke can, then back down.

 

“Come here,” Tony says. It’s a firm, but not punishing tone.

 

Peter leaves his Coke can on the bar and makes his way over to the workbench. There’s no chair there, since Tony’s sitting on the one that goes with the workbench, but he leans against its surface, which is close enough to sitting to count, his hands gripping the edge and his eyes pointing toward his knees. He’s pretty sure he’s about to get told off, and he’s kind of dreading it, because despite the whole, ‘now you’re my friend’ thing, he still looks up to the other man.

 

Tony waits for the kid to get settled, then he stands, and nudges the chair out of the way with his foot. He steps closer, and touches under Peter’s chin, brows furrowed. “You can’t do that puppy eyed thing at me. It always breaks my heart,” he complains quietly, before adding, “I’m not mad at you.”

 

Dark brown eyes flash up, surprised. “You’re not?” he asks, a dreadful sort of hope welling up in his chest. “I thought you might be.”

 

“Nope, not mad. Not even a little bit,” Tony assures him. “I am, however, drunk, and that’s probably helping along all the immoral thoughts I’m having. Not that I usually need help in that department. Just. You’ve been sacred. I never wanted to corrupt you. I never wanted to taint your goodness with all my bullshit.”

 

“What kinds of thoughts are you having?” Peter asks him, his tone quiet, his eyes earnest. He’s not really sure what _he’s_ thinking, just that something about the conversation has his blood spiking and his heart beating faster.

 

“I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you so bad I can almost taste it already,” Tony tells him, fingers still touching under the younger man’s chin, but he doesn’t move them to do more than that. “I bet you taste _good_ , like something a guy like me might crave but knows nothing about.”

 

“I’ll bet I taste like tequila,” Peter says, tipping his head back a fraction to invite that kiss, dark eyes lowering to Tony’s mouth, then raising back to his eyes. He keeps gripping the work surface beneath him, unsure of what he might do with his hands, if he loosens them, even for a second.

 

“Tequila, Coke, salt, lime, and vodka,” Tony recites the list of the things the kid has consumed since coming up to his penthouse. Fingers finally move, the backs of them brushing down the front of the younger man’s throat, then up gradually, encouraging Peter’s head to tip back a fraction more. But instead of kissing him, a calloused thumb comes up, and smooths over his lips. “Want to know a secret?”

 

“Yeah, Mr. Stark. Tell me a secret,” Peter rasps out, his breath warm across Tony’s thumb, his lips sensitive as they move across the calloused digit. He’s a little disappointed his invitation didn’t work, because for some reason, he really wants to be kissed right now.

 

“I _like_ it when you call me Mr. Stark, and sir. Everytime you say it, it does something to me that I push to the back of my mind,” Tony rumbles, his thumb moving to the corner of soft lips, before his hand pushes into Peter’s hair at the back of the kid’s neck. He grips the strands in a solid hold, then his lips brush the younger man’s carefully. “I know you don’t do it on purpose, that I’m just dirty,” he tries to assure Peter. Teeth tug that soft lower lip. “You don’t mean to turn me on, do you, kid?”

 

“I didn’t, Mr. Stark,” he says quietly, his lower lip moist from being tugged between Tony’s teeth. His breath is a little ragged and he can’t stop himself from using his tongue to wet his lips further. “I guess you won’t be asking me to call you Tony, will you, sir?”

 

The peppering of ‘Mr. Stark’ and then ‘sir’ has Tony staring hard into eyes as dark as his own. Then his eyes shut with a deep breath, and his head lowers that fraction more, sealing his mouth to the younger man’s. Fingers clench in his hair, and he neatly steps between Peter’s knees as his tongue pushes into the multi-flavored mouth. It tastes like corrupted innocence, all the flavors together, and Tony _likes_ that.

 

Peter draws a sharp breath through his nose and opens his mouth to Tony, offering up his mouth to be tasted. He grips that table until it feels like either it or his knuckles are going to crack under the pressure, and then he begins to kiss back, his tongue sliding along Tony’s while he moans softly into the older man’s mouth.

 

The hand not in Peter’s hair goes to the kid’s hip, and squeezes it possessively, Tony taking in a sharp breath of his own when the kid kisses him back, and feeds him that pretty moan. Then he’s lifting his head, and bowing it after so his mouth goes to Peter’s ear. “If we do this, and you like me well enough after, I’m not sharing you with anyone. You’ll be mine, and only mine, if you decide you want to be with me.” Because Tony isn’t going to do this then let MJ swoop in, stealing Peter back.

 

Peter pauses a moment, his own thoughts going to MJ. But, he’s sadly confident that there won’t be a reconciliation between them this time. It’s not the first time they’ve broken up, but it’s the last. All the more so because he _wants_ to agree to Tony’s terms. He takes a deep breath, then lets it go, resigning himself to this new world he’s choosing. “Okay, Mr. Stark,” he says in a shaky voice. “I’ll be yours. Only yours.”

 

Tony can feel that resignation in the other man, and it should have given him pause. Maybe it does, a little, because Tony has an incredible ego, and no one should be _resigning_ themselves to their fate of being with him.

 

But.

 

Tony’s also old, and Peter is young, beautiful, smart. Things he craves so bad he can ignore his ego, if it means he gets to have this kid. So the words are soaked in, and accepted, Tony taking in a sharp breath before rasping into Peter’s ear, “Yes. You will be mine.”

 

Then he kisses that ear, more kisses plied down the side of the kid’s neck, his hand in his hair guiding his head to tip to the side for a better angle for the affection. It’s funny. Tony usually shies away from making such declarations and demands, but now that he has a chance with this particular young man, he feels greedy for it.

 

Peter shivers, unaware of the darker thoughts in Tony’s head. He tips his head to the side as he’s pushed to do a heavy sigh breathed out as the kisses move down his throat. “I’m scared, Mr. Stark,” he manages to say in a strangled voice. “I want to touch you back, but I’m afraid of what I might do, if I let go of this table. I’m afraid I’ll tear your clothes or mine. Or... I don’t know what I might do.” The table is holding him to reality, keeping him from becoming feral with the power of Tony’s kisses.

“Everything is okay, Peter. I can buy new clothes, and you can wear something of mine home, if you need or want to,” Tony tells him quietly, his hands going to the ones gripping the table so tightly. Fingertips caress the straining knuckles, coaxing them to let go, even as he kisses the younger man’s mouth again. His tongue pushes inside that honey-sweet sin, and his cock aches in his pants from how good it feels to kiss him.

 

One hand at a time, Peter lets go of the table, the first hand going to Tony’s hair and gripping the strands, the other fisting in the man’s shirt. It’s as if being granted the use of his hands brings him to life and he’s like fire as he kisses back and stands, so that his body is tight to the other man’s. He clings desperately to Tony as hard as he pushes for _more_. More kisses, more touching, more of this danger that feels like home.

 

It feels good, being wanted like this, by _this_ young man. Tony gives him what he needs, more kisses with deeper thrusts of his tongue. More touches, his hands pulling at the younger man’s shirt and only breaking the kiss for long enough to remove the garment, before dropping it to the floor. Then he’s going for the buttons of his own shirt, working around the fist in the cloth to remove the clothing, so they’re equal parts undressed.

 

“ _More_ ,” Peter manages to husk out, the hand that is no longer fisted in Tony’s shirt sliding down his abdomen. He feels the ripple of hard muscle, and then he’s at the man’s belt, and he hesitates, because he’s never done _this_ before. Then, Tony kisses him again and he groans deeply, and both hands scrabble for the other man’s belt, wrenching it open, then opening the button and zip of his jeans. The material pools around the man’s ankles, and Peter breaks the kiss, lowering himself to help take off his shoes and socks, so he can step out of the heavy fabric of the denims. He’s confronted by the tented erection in Tony’s boxers and he reaches out a tentative hand to stroke it through the cotton, then stands again, going for another kiss while he strokes.

 

That. That’s the moment that Tony loses his mind, when Peter strokes him as they kiss. Tony growls into the younger man’s mouth, and lifts him by the hips, right onto the work surface of the very expensive, state-of-the-art technology table. Greedy hands then go to the younger man’s pants, undoing the belt, then unbuttoning and unzipping them until he’s able to jerk them down. He breaks the kiss long enough to get shoes, socks, and then those pants completely off, before he’s kissing the kid hard again, a hand going for his cock through his briefs to stroke it. Impatience soon has him pushing his hand into those briefs, and gripping the younger man’s cock, stroking it with firm motions.

 

Eager to match Tony, or at least not be left behind, Peter reaches into Tony’s boxers, long fingers wrapping around his cock and squeezing before he begins to stroke him in kind. It’s after he’s past the insanity of needing to do _more_ that his body begins to get messages through to his brain, namely how damned _good_ it feels to have Tony’s calloused hands wrapped around the thick length of his cock. He goes absolutely still for a moment, his body tense all over, and makes a sound that is at once impatient and needy. “Mr. Stark...” he breathes out the name, awe tinging his voice, that he’s actually doing _this_ with this man.

 

“You’re like one of those kids that spam the kick button over and over on Mortal Kombat, and kick my ass with it, no matter how many moves I have memorized. Because, _fuck_ , I like it when you call me Mr. Stark,” Tony rasps out, before he’s lifting the lighter man up by the hips, a hand cupping his ass as he stalks to the bedroom with him. “You’re lucky I’m not fucking you on the hologram table. I would, but I’m sorely lacking in lube anywhere near it,” he informs him, before taking Peter to his bedroom. He sets the kid down on his bed, then steals those briefs with another kiss, before he’s hunting for that lube he said he needed.

 

“Don’t want to be fucked,” Peter manages, his face getting red when he thinks about needing lube. “I want more than to be fucked on a table. I want this to be _nice_.” And now, he’s officially a fucking woman. He looks down at where his hand is still inside Tony’s boxers, stroking dutifully. He tries to illustrate his point by slowing down and letting his palm caress his cock slowly. He takes the lube that Tony’s found and pulls the hand in his boxers back to fill the palm with the clear liquid, then begins to stroke again, keeping his motions slow and sensuous.

 

Tony needed to hear those words, and the illustration helps, even if it makes him feel a steadily building level of insanity. This isn’t just some piece of ass he’s about to take and fuck until he’s sated, then kick out. This is _his_ Peter Parker. This kid is special to him in ways he can’t even begin to explain. Trying to think how to word it has the usually sarcastic man swallowing hard as he stares down into dark eyes.

 

“This is going to be nice. I don’t know what I was saying, just before. I’m an idiot,” Tony says softly, fingers carding through the young man’s hair. “I’m sorry,” he even adds, and everyone knows how often he says those particular words.

 

“Thank you, sir,” Peter breathes out a sigh of relief, and uses the hand not stroking Tony’s cock to cup his jaw before he brings his lips to the other man’s in a desperate sort of kiss. Once he can think of something besides how good Mr. Stark tastes and all the ways this kiss is messing with his pulse, he lies back against the pillows, pulling Tony with him.

 

Tony moves over the younger man when pulled, a sharp breath taken in as he kisses Peter. Then he’s pulling his boxers off, and tossing them, making more room for the younger man’s lubricated hand to stroke his thick, heavy cock. Tony slows everything way down in his head, and even though he kneels between Peter’s legs, he decides he’s going to take his time before trying to penetrate the younger man. Instead, he collects some lube for his calloused palm, and wraps that hand around the other’s thick cock, before he slowly starts stroking. His head lifts to stare down into the other man’s eyes with a solemn expression as he speaks, “I’ve never told you this, but I’ve loved you for a long time. Sure, it hasn’t been the kind of love where I thought I’d get to touch you like this, but now that I am, something feels like it’s just clicked into place, in my heart.”

 

There’s a quiet kind of joy in Peter’s eyes when Tony tells him he loves him. “I love you, too, Tony Stark. I never thought it would be like this, but you’re right. We fit, don’t we?” He takes a deep breath, and enjoys the moment, the words, and the weight of Tony pushing him into the mattress and the hand stroking his cock. “Nothing’s ever felt this good. Not ever. Not for me.”

 

Anybody else could have said something like that to Tony, and it would have hit his emotional walls. He would have grinned, and been cocky, but it wouldn’t have touched him. Not in the way this young man’s words moves him now. Because he knows Peter’s been crazy about MJ, and for something with Tony to feel better than that? That just blows his mind. “It’s just going to get better,” he finds himself solemnly promising the younger man, clearing his throat to try to stop his eyes from getting shiny.

 

A tender kiss is pressed to Peter’s lips, Tony’s hand stroking the younger man’s cock nice and slow. He’s not usually prone to wording things in a poetic fashion, but he finds himself wanting to try, to make Peter feel as good as the younger man is making him feel. “I’m not sure what I did right, to have you like this, but I’m glad I did it, to get to touch you,” he begins, before kissing the younger man’s lips again slowly, tongue dipping into his mouth for a brief taste. “You feel like everything good in this world, like it’s all been given to me, and I’m struggling to take you in without becoming overwhelmed by how fantastic you feel.”

 

Peter raises his head, frantic for another kiss after those words, and then, when their lips part he breathes out a shuddering breath into the other man’s ear. “I want to belong to you, Mr. Stark. I want you to have me, and I never thought I’d want something like that, but I do. More than anything in the world right now, I want to be yours.” He keeps stroking his cock, but he also uses it to guide Tony closer, until he can feel his cock nudge against his hips. “Please, sir.”

 

“We gotta take it slower than that, kid,” Tony tells him, even if he can’t believe what he’s saying, because he wants to give him exactly what he’s asking for, and he wants it right now. He takes in a deep breath, drawing in some patience so he doesn’t lose his mind from that slow, constant stroking, and grabs the lube again.

 

You can never use too much lube.

 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Tony further explains, before coating his fingers with a little more of the clear liquid, and reaching between them. He brushes Peter’s cock lightly, but moves past it, along the testicles, until he’s tucking them and ticking a long middle finger along the cleft of the younger man’s ass. When he finds the entrance there, he circles it slowly with that finger. “So, fingers first, then we can upgrade.”

 

“I’m a superhero. I can take it,” Peter insists, his hips arching up into that touch. He’s part petulant, because he wants what he wants, and part relieved because the unknown is a little bit scary. “I can take anything, as long you’re kissing me while you do it,” he says softly, wrapping strong arms around Tony and pulling him closer, looking for a deep, slow kiss. His tongue strokes against the other man’s tasting him with a low groan, those slow strokes to his cock never ceasing.

 

“You’re a virgin, at least to men. We’re doing this my way,” Tony tells him, even if it makes him grin a little, hearing that petulant voice. Then they’re kissing, and Tony’s hips start arching, just a little, into that slowly stroking hand. It elicits a groan from the older man, which is fed into the younger one’s sweet mouth. That’s when he pushes that long middle finger inside Peter, slowly, until the base of his digit is buried.

 

Peter gasps out as he penetrated, brown eyes flashing open to stare deeply into Tony’s. “Oh, wow, Mr. Stark,” he babbles, almost incoherent with the feeling of being parted. It’s a stretch, but it’s not painful, and the fear begins to subside, with need overtaking him. He swings his hips into motion, the slide of him making him pant with each motion. For the first time since they started, his hand falls from Tony’s cock, so he can rest his hands on the man’s shoulders, clinging to him as the sensations start to carry him away.

 

When Peter starts arching into his finger, Tony stares at him, painfully turned on at this point. It’s like the kid was made for this sort of thing, and neither of them had known it. “I don’t think you understand how unbelievably hot you’re being right now,” Tony tells him, gently thrusting his finger to go with those swinging hips. He bows his head to the side of Peter’s neck, and plies an open mouthed kiss to it, sucking slowly, but not enough to mark him. At least not there. Probably shouldn’t cover his intern with hickies.

 

“I don’t think you understand how unbelievably _good_ you feel, Mr. Stark,” Peter murmurs, head tipping to the side, so Tony can suck at his neck. The attention over his jugular ratchets his breathing up a notch and he speeds his hips up, until the rhythm of his hand is just shy of fast. “I wish you could know how good I feel right now,” he says, his voice a little high-sounding from the rush of chemicals to his brain and the hand working so perfectly against him.

 

“I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Tony admits against his neck. In his younger years, he wasn’t always on top. Sometimes he played catcher. It’s like none of the hard work, and all of the pleasure rolled into one, as long as the pitcher’s at least halfway decent. A soothing kiss is pressed to Peter’s neck after he’s sucked on it a few seconds, then he licks up to the younger man’s ear, and mutters into it. “You about ready for a second finger?” That second finger brushes along that tight entrance while the first finger still thrusts.

 

“It’s not the _what_ you’re missing out on so much as the _who_ ,” Peter insists, before he gets quiet. Maybe this experience isn’t really unique to him. Maybe Tony’s had it years before, with somebody else. “It’s pretty fantastic,” he finishes lamely, his hips looking for that second finger, bearing down on it so that it joins the first and Peter gasps as he’s stretched that extra bit. He goes still, letting Tony do the hard part now, and just concentrating on what it feels like, on enjoying this first time.

 

“I might not know what it’s like to be with myself-” Tony begins, before he thinks about that. “Okay, I do know what it’s like to be with myself, but not in the same way you’re experiencing it. But what I do know, is that _you’re_ pretty fantastic. Stellar, really. Out of this fucking world,” he says. He can’t stress that enough, really. Partly because it’s true, and partly because he saw that bit of hurt flash across the kid’s face, that insecurity. He pulls his first finger back, then pushes both fingers inside the younger man, fingers of his other hand starting to caress his face, with his elbow pressed to the pillow. “You’re…” He tries to think of the right words, staring deeply down into dark eyes. “You’re the best thing in my life, and that was true even before today. Now it’s just a million times better.”

 

Those words are rewarded with a wide, happy smile. “I love you, Mr. Stark,” he says in an awe-tinged voice, because he gets to say that now, and it’s not weird. It’s perfect and it feels so fucking good. Then, his attention is stolen by the two fingers working their way in and out of his ass, and he hisses with how good that feels. And to think he’d been scared this might not be as great as being with a girl. He rolls his hips, his cock heavy against his abdominal muscles, and wishes again that Tony wasn’t being so careful with him, because nothing that’s happened so far has diminished the way he _wants_ this man.

 

“I love you, too, Peter,” Tony says softly, his voice a little awe-tinged, too. That hiss from the kid has him going even more slowly, just in case it was a sign of pain, but the older man soon realizes it wasn’t, and speeds his fingers up again. “Getting harder to do this slow,” he explains, his cock throbbing against Peter’s inner thigh. “It’s going to feel so good, when I’m buried inside you,” he adds, lips brushing the younger man’s.

 

“Do it. _Please_ ,” Peter discovers he’s not above begging. “I need to be yours, Mr. Stark. I’m ready for it. I’m ready to belong to you, like you said I would,” he reaches for that cock that pulses so slowly against his thigh, brushing his fingers down it’s hard length and smearing the drop of precum he finds welling over the slit.

 

“Yeah? You want to belong to me, kid?” Tony asks him, voice hoarse from how aroused those words coming from this young man makes him feel. It’s better than perfect. He hisses his pleasure when fingers brush his cock, and then he grips it by the base, and gives it a firm stroke. After that, more lube is smeared on his cock, before he’s guiding the head to brush against the entrance of Peter’s ass. “Because that’s about to happen right now,” he tells him, before sinking his hips slowly forward.

 

Peter’s eyes bulge wide as Tony sinks the head of his cock inside him, forcing him to open in ways that having those fingers inside him hadn’t. His mouth falls open as he drags in a deep breath that’s chased by a whimper. It hurts, but it feels fucking perfect, too. “Thank you, Mr. Stark,” he says in a relieved whisper that’s almost too hoarse to make out. He belongs to him now, just like he needed. It’s hard to believe that until a few hours ago, he’d never considered this, and now it’s a focal point of his being. He’s the Spider Man, _and_ he belongs to Tony Stark.

 

“You’re so _tight_ ,” Tony breathes out, barely inside the younger man, and already it feels almost too good. His head bows to touch his forehead to Peter’s, and he slowly, gently rocks his hips forward another inch, all while staring into those dark eyes. “Just hold still, okay? At least for right now. I don’t want this to hurt you more than it has to,” he murmurs next, trying to avoid the younger man’s hips from rolling into action and spearing himself on Tony’s cock.

 

Peter nods tightly. “Okay, Mr. Stark. Whatever you say, sir,” he rasps out, his body trembling with the suppressed urge to move against this man he wants so desperately to be _his_. But, that’s not what they agreed to, and he’s a little afraid to bring it up now. So, instead, he focuses on the dark eyes boring into his, on the power of them and the strength. He focuses on the voice, guiding him through this first encounter. When Tony pushes again, he clings to him, mouth seeking desperately for a kiss to muffle the low groan that parts his lips. It’s almost too much.

 

But, it’s not enough. He needs _more._

 

Tony kisses the younger man hard, his mouth latching onto the other’s firmly in a deep kiss, so he can swallow that low groan the kid emits. His eyes shut even tighter, and he he takes in a sharp breath, gently rocking his hips until he’s fully buried in Peter’s tight heat. He lets out a pant against soft lips as he breaks the kiss, and opens his eyes, so he can stare into the other man’s. “Still doing okay?” he asks softly. God, he just wants to blow his load right now. He could, but then it’d be highly disappointing.

 

“Yeah,” Peter pants out, relishing in the feel of having Tony’s hips flush with his. “I’m feeling pretty great, actually,” he says in a lust-drenched voice. “How are you feeling, Mr. Stark? Is this... you know, okay?” He’s still not moving, because he hasn’t been given permission, but it seems like it would be more enjoyable for Tony, if he _could_ move.

 

“This is fucking amazing,” Tony blurts out, being about as poetic as a train wreck. “I can’t stress enough how good I feel right now. So keep doing the thing where you don’t move, because I don’t think I could take it just yet,” he says tightly, before taking a deep breath. A soft kiss is given to the younger man’s lips, and then he gradually begins to thrust, pulling back about half way, then slowly sinking forward again.

 

Oh, that thrust feels like nothing he’s ever experienced. It makes his cock throb as hard as being with a woman ever had, and he cries out sharply, unable to hold the noise at bay. “Sorry, Mr. Stark,” he pants, trying to get a grip on these little noises that just slip out of him as the older man moves. “I can’t help it. I’ve never been loud before, but I can’t help it now.”

 

“I like the noises. Keep up the good work,” Tony breathes out, each little noise the younger man lets slip being memorized by the older man. He’s doing that. He’s making the kid makes those sounds. A gentle kiss is pressed to his lips, and he slides his nose slightly along the other’s, before his hips start to rock faster. He holds his breath a moment, then lets it out in a rush. “Okay, you can move now, if you want. Just don’t buck too hard or this won’t last as long as we’d like.”

 

“The next thing I’m hoping for is to feel what it’s like when you cum inside me, so that’s not much incentive,” Peter explains, flushing with the admission. Even so, he moves slowly, the first swing of his hips forcing a hissed exhale from between his lips. He looks for a kiss, letting his lips graze against the older man’s before he sucks at his lower lip, tasting it, then letting his mouth slide down his jaw to whisper into his ear. “I’m yours, and now you get to mark me with your cum. And I know that’ll feel good, because I always wanted to do it, myself.” This is the first time he’s had sex without a condom, not that he’ll be claiming _anything_ today. No, this is all about him belonging to Tony, and he’s okay with that. More than, really.

 

“Are you talking dirty to me, Peter?” Tony asks. “Because I like it, and you should keep doing it,” he adds, before the kid gets it wrong and thinks otherwise. He shifts to guiding the younger man’s legs around his hips, getting a deeper angle that way, then starts thrusting a fraction faster. It’s hot, hearing how into him coming the kid is, but he’s really trying not to come too fast. With his weight on his left elbow, his right hand moves between them, and he starts jerking the younger man off again.

 

“Can't take much of that,” Peter grits out, his cock throbbing madly in Tony’s hand. “Gonna cum fast, if you do that,” he mutters, locking his ankles around his waist. He cries out sharply at the deeper angle and his arms tighten around Tony, clutching to him, their chests dragging against one another as they move. He’s not sure his balls have ever felt tighter than they do right now, and he knows he’s about to make an absolute mess of both their abdomens, because when he starts cumming, he might not stop.

 

“Good, because I can’t hold out much longer,” Tony rasps, jerking the younger man’s cock fast now, in juxtaposition to the almost slow thrusts of his own hips. “Come for me, Peter. You don’t have to hold back anymore,” he tries coaxing the kid, his heart racing from that latest sharp outcry Peter made. His head bows further, and his lips brush the kid’s ear, muttering into it, “You’re mine, now, and I’m yours.”

 

Peter’s heart leaps with the words, and he stutters out a question as best as he can in this state of near-coming. “You... You’re _mine_ ?” Wonder and disbelief fill the words and then his hips are speeding for the last few seconds he can hold out and he’s almost screaming, because in addition to giving him more friction for his cock, it gives him an idea what it must feel like to actually be _fucked_ by this man.

 

Then, without conscious thought, he’s surrendering to his orgasm, his cock throwing rope after rope of his hot cum against his stomach, only for it to be rubbed in by the slide of Tony’s body against his. “Mr. Stark!” he cries out sharply as his lower body throbs and pulses with pleasure that just gets greater with those faster swings of his hips.

 

_“Yes,”_ Tony growls out the answer to that question. Love isn’t just a one-way street with the two of them. He doesn’t expect the kid to belong to him, without him knowing he has Tony’s heart, too, and everything else that goes along with it. Fingers gently stroke the younger man’s hair, dark eyes staring down into Peter’s face as he watches him come. Then, before he can stop it, he’s bowing his head and muffling a curse against the kid’s shoulder, hips burying his cock deep as he comes, too. He fills the younger man’s ass with his seed, body tense all over, and then he lets out a harsh breath, followed by quiet pants through his nose as he works on recovering. Fuck, he feels good.

 

Peter can _feel_ it. The hot splash of his cum as it fills him. It makes him writhe in those final moments, and then he’s cupping the back of Tony’s head, cradling it to his shoulder as they both catch their breath. He trails a finger up and down Tony’s spine, feeling intensely proud of their performance and unhooks his legs from around his waist, so he can pull back when he’s ready. “I never dreamed anything could feel that good, Mr. Stark,” he whispers out the words. “You’re amazing. And I’m proud to be yours.”

 

“You did so good,” Tony breathes out, before slowly, gingerly pulling back so he can pull out of that tight ass. He turns, and drops onto his back, before an arm tugs the younger man to leaning against his chest, a kiss pressed into his hair. A calloused hand rubs up and down the kid’s back, and he lies there, staring up at the ceiling. “You’ve had a busy day, today. Guess we both have.”

 

Funny how these things happen.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“You know, when you suggested we shoot some hoops, I didn’t know you actually meant wipe the pavement with my face,” Tony complains, missing another block as the ball the kid tosses sinks into the hoop. He’s sweating, and now he’s hunching a bit, hands going to his knees. “You’re also distracting me with the lack of a shirt. But don’t stop doing that, that’s a great tactic,” he adds, staring at the kid until he feels marginally better about getting his ass handed to him.

“Come on, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, his face exuberant, like a puppy with a ball, as he darts past the older man to rebound his own shot. He waits for Tony to make it out of bounds before he checks him the ball and gives him a second before he covers him, making it tough to break for a shot. “We’re playing on hardwood, not pavement. You want to head to Queens, I can show you some pavement. We play in Avengers Tower, it’s on hardwood. Besides, it’s the spider thing again. Makes me really good at basketball, but it also gives me this chest you like staring at, so I’d call it a draw.”

“You saying I’m being creepy?” Tony scoffs, even if he is being creepy. “And we’re definitely not going to Queens for this ass whooping you’re handing me. I’ll take the hardwood over the pavement any day.” The next shot the kid makes, Tony hits a button on a device he’s palmed, and the goal slides upward, making him miss. “Oops, would you look at that.” Tony isn’t above cheating. Granted, it’s not getting him points, but at least it’s getting the kid at least one missed shot.

Nonplussed, Peter uses his own palmed device to shoot a web to the ceiling, and swings upward, catching the missed ball and dropping it easily into the hoop. “Still my point, Mr. Stark!” he calls out, before he gets caught up in swinging around the court, then dropping to his feet in front of Tony. He leans in for a fast, hard kiss, before he locks eyes with the older man and says, “Tag. You’re it!” and bounds off.

Tony likes that kiss. Then he’s breaking out into a grin when Peter calls tag, before the kid is bounding off. “You do that. I’ll catch up!” Tony calls after the younger man, before going to get some water and a towel. He needs to mop up all the sweat off his face and neck, and rehydrate, before he goes about chasing the kid around the court for a kiss. Not that he thinks he can catch him without the kid wanting to be caught. Not unless Tony has one of his suits on. Then they’re more evenly matched.

Peter darts around the gym for a few minutes, watching Tony with a little smile on his face. Then, he jogs back, reaching for the towel and using it to clear the sweat off the older man’s face face before he leans in for another kiss. “I just wanted to remind you that you’re mine,” he says brightly before he takes up a bottle of water and begins to drink.

“I appreciate the reminder,” Tony says quietly, watching the younger man drink from the bottle. He takes a look at his own half full bottle, before lifting it high above the kid’s head. “I think it looks like rain,” he says, before pouring it on his head and shoulders. Because you know what’s even better than a half naked Peter Parker? A half naked and wet Peter Parker.

“No fair, Mr. Stark!” Peter yelps, jumping backward, so that most of the water ends up on his chest, instead of on his head. He can’t help but laugh a little before he gets his serious face on and stalks forward, like he might be coming for a kiss or he might be coming for revenge.

“Wait.” Tony holds up a hand, palm forward, so the kid will end up lightly bumping into it as he stalks closer. Dark eyes drop to that wet chest, and he starts to slowly smooth over it, the water on the kid’s chest having already warmed from the heat of Peter’s skin. “I’m having a moment here,” he mutters distractedly.

Peter pauses, giving Tony his moment, but when his eyes lift to Peter’s, the younger man grips his hair and crushes his mouth to his in a hard kiss. He likes the way Tony’s hand feels against his chest, the skin cool compared to his, because his body temperature runs a little high. When he raises his head, his eyes are dark and he’s not grinning any more. “Are you done playing, Mr. Stark?” he asks in a low voice.

“Keep kissing me like that, and I won’t be able to think straight for long enough to give you the full mentor experience, kid,” Tony says hoarsely, because God knows he’s trying to do more than keep the kid chained to his bed 24/7. “We need to shower, and then we really should get some work done.” Responsible Tony. Hard working Tony. Those aspects of him dutifully ignore the blood filtering to his cock.

Peter replies by giving Tony another of those hard kisses, this time parting his lips to taste the other man’s mouth. He dips his tongue into Tony’s mouth and a growl ticks up from his throat as the flavor of him overtakes his senses. “If we’re going to shower, we should both at least work up a sweat first,” he points out, the hand not tangled in his hair going to his hip and squeezing as he lowers his gaze to the other man’s groin, then drags it back up to his eyes.

The basketball shorts really do nothing to hide Tony’s full on erection, because erections happen when he gets kissed like that. Even the growl thrills him, reminding him of himself, to go along with the way the kid kisses him, just like Tony kisses him. This really is like teaching a young man to be just like him. Well, he did say he was looking for himself when he wanted to find someone to be with.

“I don’t think you sweat. Do you sweat?” Tony asks, before dipping his head to check by taste, tongue dragging up the side of the kid’s neck. There’s a faint salty taste to the skin, but he suspects this kid just doesn’t sweat. Because nothing really gives him a workout, not with the spider thing going on.

“If I really get in a good workout, I do,” Peter says, confirming what Tony already guessed. “It takes a lot, though. I’ll bet you could make me sweat, if you wanted to,” he says, his voice tight from having that path licked up the side of his neck. “I’ll bet I could make you sweat more.”

"I'd say you'd win that bet, but it's such a sure thing that I doubt anyone would take you up on it. I know I wouldn't," is husked into the kid's ear. A short, small kiss is given to that ear, before he speaks again. "Speaking of exchanging money for the sake of sweat, I've got a hundred dollar bill in my wallet, on the table. Let me do something dirty with it, like stuff it into your briefs while you tell me it's going to cost more than that." Uh oh. Tony has a whore kink.

“It would cost you more than a Benjamin to get close enough to my briefs to stuff one into it,” Peter assures him. “I’m thinking dinner and half a large, then I’ll take you back to the penthouse and put on a show to earn that $100,” he mutters into the man’s ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and giving it a little tug, for good measure.

Tony groans audibly with that, eyes rolling shut. He knows the kid is playing along purely to please him, because Peter doesn't need money. Tony keeps giving it to him, along with three of his credit cards. College students have needs, Tony had said when insisting Peter take them. "Deal. Where would you like to eat?"

“What’s the most expensive place you can get us into on short notice?” he asks, keeping his voice low. “I want to see how powerful the Tony Stark can be, when he’s decided to impress somebody. When he’s decided to impress me.”

“How’s Chef’s Table at Brooklyn Fare sound? It’s a three star Michelin restaurant. It has eighteen seats, getting a reservation anytime soon is just about impossible, but we’re going to eat there in an hour,” Tony decides. “Because I saved it from burning down a month ago, and that gives me privileges I’m about to cash in on,” he adds, because, well, sprinkling in the superhero aspect just makes it sound cooler. He picks up his phone from the table, looks up the owner’s number in his contacts, and makes the call.

When he’s done, he gives Peter a kiss, pocketing his phone, wallet, and other such things he’d taken out of his pockets for the basketball murdering. He pauses, then asks, “Do you have a suit yet? I guess I should have asked that first.”

“I don’t have a suit here, but I have one in my dorm. I bought it for the Winter Formal, at school,” he says, feeling a little sheepish, because Tony’s going to be wearing a $3000 custom suit, while he’s got a $100 off the rack at Men’s Warehouse ensemble. I can get there and back in fifteen minutes, if I go by air,” he pantomimes slinging webs to get his point across.

“I would point out the folly of you wanting to go to one of the most expensive places in New York while not having clothes to wear there, other than your Winter Formal thing, but that would be mean. So, instead, I’m going to kiss you,” Tony pauses to kiss the younger man on the lips, trying to chase away that sheepishness, “and say… See you in fifteen minutes, Underoos.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Stark,” Peter jogs toward the elevator, so he can take a dive off the penthouse landing pad, after he grabs his spider suit. He pauses and looks over his shoulder as the door opens for him. “It works out this way. You wouldn’t expect a common stripper to have an expensive suit, would you?” He steps into the box and jabs the ‘close doors’ button with a coy little wave, and then he’s gone.

Tony stares at the kid, then says vehemently, “You are my fantasy.” He breaks out into a smile for the little wave, and then he’s going to the windows, so he can watch Peter fly off. Once that’s done, and the kid is out of sight, he heads for his penthouse, and goes straight to the shower to clean himself up.

Fifteen minutes later, Peter returns to the penthouse, as promised, his blood rushing from the thrill of swinging around the city. He drops the bag with his suit in it, and pulls off his mask, tossing it to the side, then quickly skins off the rest of his suit. Now, he’s naked and he has a dilemma. Given the lack of extra time they have, he should get into that suit and be waiting on Tony when he gets out of the shower. 

But, that’s not what he wants to do.

Still, they have a reservation, and he’s Tony’s fantasy tonight, so with a groan, he reaches for the suit and starts to pull on the pieces. When he’s done, he looks sharp. Those were the exact words MJ used when he showed up in the slim-cut silver suit with blue accents. He drops onto the sofa, sitting in the middle with his arms stretched out over the back and tips his head back, eyes closed, trying not to imagine Tony in the shower.

Tony emerges from the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his hips, and pauses to take in the beauty that is Peter. “Damn. You look great,” the older man breathes out. To be fair, Peter would look great in a burlap sack, though that suit isn’t quite that bad looking. It’s a bit charming, really, and does play into the stripper role. “You probably hear that a lot, huh?” he asks with a grin, before turning and going back into the bedroom to get dressed.

“If I didn’t, I’d be unemployed,” Peter calls back with a quiet chuckle and waits for Tony to finish getting ready. Fifteen minutes later, he reappears in that $3000 bespoke suit and Peter’s mouth goes dry as he stands and makes his way over to the older man, straightening his tie. “I’m seriously outclassed tonight, Mr. Stark,” he whispers, letting his lips drag across his.

“I think you’ll be able to live with being the second best dressed man in the room, as long as the best dressed one is me,” Tony breathes out against his lips in return, before cupping the back of his head and coaxing his lips to part for a slow, deep kiss. He breaks it after a few seconds with a sudden grin. “Okay, we need to get going, or we’ll never make it there on time. Then you’ll have to settle for Chinese take-out in bed, and we can’t have that.”

“Any guy from Brooklyn can get me Chinese take-out in bed. Only Tony Stark can give me Chef’s Table at Brooklyn Fare tonight on an hour’s notice,” Peter purrs out, following Tony to the door. Luckily, they aren’t far from the restaurant, or they might have had to use their real suits to get there on time, and that would have caused the kind of commotion that wouldn’t be healthy for the fantasy they’re trying to build up.

Pausing, just inside the door, Peter reaches for Tony’s arm, giving it a swift tug to stop him. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks, dark eyes narrowing theatrically. “It’s $500 to get me to the restaurant,” he remind him with a little grin. “I take Venmo, if you don’t have cash.”

“Venmo it is. Incidentally, have you even used the credit cards I gave you yet? Because the statements swear you’re not using them, and that concerns me, because college is expensive. You’re at least not hoarding the cash I keep giving you, right?” Tony asks, and ask he speaks, he goes about Venmo-ing a $1,000 to the kid. “The extra is for all the trouble,” he explains when Peter gets the notification.  
“I don’t hoard the cash, Mr. Stark. I give it to charity,” Peter shrugs, like it’s no big deal to drop hundreds, maybe thousands of dollars in the Salvation Army bucket. “I have enough to live on, since you keep giving me paid internships and Stark Industries pays my tuition.” This $1000 is going to make some kid at the Ronald McDonald House’s day, he figures. Maybe he’ll actually keep enough to buy a better suit for date nights.

That gives Tony pause. He stares at the kid for a long moment in his silence, then he’s guiding him to press his back to the doorway, and he’s kissing him again. Sure, kissing Peter just about in public might not be the very best of ideas if they want to keep things under wraps, since Peter works for his company, but, fuck it, who’s going to fire Tony for it?

Peter has the same thought, even though he melts into the kiss, his arms going around Tony’s neck and holding on for dear life. “Careful, Mr. Stark,” he breathes out when Tony’s lips finally part from his own. “You don’t want to get in trouble for kissing me. And you know Nat’s got spies in here, reporting back to her at the compound.” He wishes it wasn’t this way. He wants to tell everybody that he’s in love with Tony Stark, and that Tony loves him back, but they’ve been careful so far, keeping things quiet from the team and the rest of the world. Peter hasn’t even told Ned or Aunt May about his new boyfriend yet.

“Yeah, I keep forgetting the part where I raised myself a boyfriend to have once he was old enough,” Tony says thoughtfully. “I think they call that grooming. No wonder I’m so crazy about you,” he adds, before he’s kissing the kid again, this time only a small peck on the lips. “Okay, okay, behaving now,” he says, striding outside and walking in the direction of the restaurant.

“You didn’t groom me,” Peter says quietly, letting the subject drop because he doesn’t have any proof to argue with. It’s just that he doesn’t like the insinuation that he was taken advantage of. He doesn’t feel taken advantage of. He feels stronger, more powerful with this man beside him.

It’s a short walk to the restaurant, and the maitre ‘d escorts them to the best table in the house. It’s cozy with white linen and crystal goblets and silver flatware already on the table, along with china. His palms start to sweat, and when they’re left alone, Peter gives Tony an anxious look. “Uh, Mr. Stark? I don’t actually know how to eat in a place like this.”

“You just start from the outside with your utensils, and work your way in. Or, alternatively, pick a fork or spoon, food depending, and I’ll do the same. They might laugh at you for it if you do it by yourself, but if I do it too, they’ll just figure I raised you wrong and blame me instead,” Tony says, because apparently he likes pointing out the age thing at every opportunity. Maybe it’s a really fucked up kink, or maybe it’s a defense mechanism. Tony isn’t going to think too deeply on that.

“I’ll just do what you do,” Peter decides, his foot tapping nervously on the floor. Eventually the server comes over to go over menu options with them, and the wine selection. Peter pretty much bows out of the conversation by copying Tony exactly, with no clue what kind of food he’ll be getting at the end of it, because everything is in French, and he took Spanish in high school.

When the server leaves, Tony looks over the table at the nervous young man, and says, “You’re lucky I basically just ordered the equivalent of chicken tenders, because something told me you’d copy me. It’s what I would have done, if I didn’t know French.” Tony actually sounds pretty proud, in this moment. Peter is just so fucking brilliant. Just. Like. Tony.

“Maybe I’ll start studying French. In case I don’t screw this up too badly and you want to be seen in public with me again, or something,” Peter mumbles a little bit, because he’s not used to not fitting in. It’s just that this is a whole world he didn’t know existed, back in Aunt May’s apartment in Queens. Lessons. Maybe he can find somebody to give him lessons on not looking like the village idiot in places like this and he can impress Tony next time.

“I could teach you French. I know this perfect place where we can study,” Tony tells him, smiling at the server when he returns with the bottle of wine and pours it into the glasses. “I think you know the place. We’re there just about every day.” Go away, server. Smile. Thank you. Dark eyes track the retreat of the server, and then he adds, “You know, my bed, right?”

“I want to learn more than how to call you Daddy in French,” Peter says dryly, taking a healthy swallow of his wine. Funny. He can’t really tell the difference between this and the bottle he and MJ shared after the Winter Formal, except the $300 price tag. He really is cultural swine.

“See, I wasn’t going to go there, believe it or not, but now that you’ve opened the door-” Tony begins, when the chef himself comes out to say hello, wanting to meet Iron Man. Tony plays nice, and even takes a selfie with the man on the man’s phone, before the chef assures them their food will be out shortly, and walks away again. “What was I saying? Oh, the Daddy thing. We should make that a thing. I could really get behind that idea. When do we start?”

“If I call you Daddy at your penthouse, can I call you Tony in front of the team?” Peter decides to bargain a little. Not that he particularly wants to call Mr. Stark ‘Tony’, or he minds calling him ‘Daddy’. It’s just that it feels a little unbalanced to call him Daddy behind closed doors and Mr. Stark in front of them. At least this way he gets a reminder that he’s not actually a kid from time to time.

“You drive a hard bargain, kid,” Tony states, before giving a counteroffer. “Mr. Stark, sir, and Daddy in the bedroom, and Tony in front of the team?” He picks up his wine glass, and slowly goes about rotating his wrist to spin the liquid inside. He’s going to actually drink some in just a minute, after he’s had this conversation.

“Mr. Stark, sir, and Daddy in the bedroom and ‘Tony’ in public. Except at work. Everybody calls you Mr. Stark at work, except Pepper,” he holds out his hand, tempting the older man to make the deal.

“Did you just sneak in a higher term in the last round, because I’m pretty sure you said in public, when at first you said in front of the team,” Tony says easily, except for the part where his eyes are slightly narrowed. “Bravo. I mean, I caught it, but I’m still going for it, and that makes the win even sweeter for you, I think,” he says after, taking that hand and shaking it.

“It’s a trick I picked up, watching you in last week’s board meeting. Seemed to work then, so I thought it might work now,” Peter says, feeling soothed by his victory. He lets his thumb slide over Tony’s knuckles before he lets that hand go. It feels good, makes him feel less like a bumbling idiot. He leans back in his chair and picks up his glass to take another drink of the bold red liquid.

Now that did the trick. Peter’s not nearly as nervous now, and that’s great. Tony finally takes a sip of his wine, then sets the glass down, before putting his elbow on the table and propping his chin in his hand. “I love you, Peter Parker,” he tells him, because why not toss in some rainbow puking mush on the kid to make him feel even better.

“I love you, too, Tony,” Peter feels a little thrill, calling the man by his given name, even if it feels odd to do it. He gives him a long look, with dark eyes heavy on dark eyes, unti their food is placed before them. Then, he does exactly like he said he was going to do and watches Tony for cues on how to eat the artfully arranged food before him. It tastes like nothing he’s ever experienced, and when he puts that first bite into his mouth, he closes his eyes and gives a little groan. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he says, after he swallows the bite and washes it down with a sip of the wine. “Thank you, for bringing me here.”

“This is pidgeon. Sorry I called it chicken tenders. I didn’t want to scare you,” Tony tells him, extra attentive after that groan the young man makes. “And, you’re welcome. Anything for my favorite stripper,” he says with a wink. “Incidentally, does this role playing we’re doing come with outfits at any point? Because-”

Just then, a mom and her daughter come up to the table, and Tony shuts his mouth, hoping the child heard none of that. Neither mom nor daughter seemed to, and instead they excitedly ask for an autograph. This doesn’t usually happen in the fancier places Tony goes to, because it’s understood that everyone here is very rich and very busy. Also, wow, how rich is this mom that she brought her five-year-old here? Another selfie is taken, and the two move back to their own table.

“What was I saying? Oh. Outfits. How do you feel about-” And now it’s the server coming up to the table, making sure they have enough wine, and asking if the food is okay so far. By the time the server is gone, Tony just sits there very still, and waits for the next person to interrupt him.

Peter saves him from trying to get that sentence out again with a promise of, “I have something planned. You’ll love it.” He does, too, having seen the tiny Spider man g-string MJ got him as a gag gift last Christmas in his drawer and decided it would definitely not be seen as a joke tonight. He’s wearing it now, and the thong is a little uncomfortable, but he thinks it’ll be worth it.

Satisfied, Tony gives him a grin, then continues eating his meal. They end up talking about work and the internship, Tony listening as Peter details what little Tony doesn’t already know about what the kid’s been up to. Tony likes to keep up on that sort of thing, when it comes to work. When the kid leaves the Tower, Tony lets him have his privacy, at least. He doesn’t want to look like one of those smothering, controlling, older boyfriends, and besides, he’s too busy for that sort of thing.

So far, Peter’s resisted the temptation to sleep over, dutifully returning to his dorm room every night, where he resists sleep by working on some pet projects and lays awake in bed, thinking about Tony. He doesn’t want to start a habit where they get used to sleeping together over the nearly over Spring Break, just to have to go back to sleeping separately when Peter’s back in school for the rest of his senior year. And after that, he’ll be upstate at the Compound, anyway. Or that’s been the plan, so far. He wilts a little bit, thinking about how he’s not going to get to see Tony every day, and how when they do see each other, they’ll be in front of the team and having to act like nothing happened between them. 

Tony catches that wilting, and sets his fork down, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Okay, what’s up? What happened? Did I say something wrong?” Not that Tony thinks it would be something wrong, per say, but it would at least be something he wished he hadn’t said, if it gets this kind of reaction from the kid.

“No, Mr. Stark. Nothing like that,” Peter rushes to say, forgetting to call the man by his given name in his rush to reassure him. “No, I was just thinking about how Spring Break and my internship is almost over and I won’t see you every day. Not unless you decide you need to take some refresher courses at Columbia,” he smiles at his own joke, trying to imagine his professors’ heads exploding if Tony Stark came to sit in on a lecture. “And then, after graduation, I’ll be upstate at the Compound, instead of here with you.”

“Maybe I will. You want to make that a challenge? Because I love those,” Tony tells him, though a part of his brain chimes in how busy he already is, everything he’s been ignoring lately, and all the missed appointments. It sounds a lot like FRIDAY. “Also, did I say you have to go to the Compound? I don’t remember that. I remember saying you should live with me, instead.” Sure, he’s making it up, but Tony Stark can do that.

Peter perks up, his eyes alight with hope. “Really, Mr. Stark? You mean that? I could just... live with you?” He grins broadly and bounces in his seat.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not,” Tony says, his heart melting over the ‘Mr. Stark’ and the bouncing in his seat. Gosh, this kid is cute. “I mean, Pepper lived with me before we had a thing, and nobody thought that was weird. The Avengers treat my place like a frat house anyway, so I doubt anyone will say anything or even notice.”

Peter blinks, his enthusiasm dampening a bit because he thought Tony was asking him to live together. “Yeah. I mean, you’ve got a half dozen bedrooms. Nobody will think anything about it. We’ll be safe.” He reminds himself that it’s better this way. Better for the team and for Tony, too.

Tony squints. “What? I want the option where you’re sleeping in my bed. I’m just saying the Avengers are all too self absorbed to notice you coming out of my penthouse on the regular, or disappearing into it, for that matter. Surely, if they were going to guard over you that hard, Nat’s spies would have had her on my ass by now for all the time we’re spending together.”

“We’re careful,” Peter protests. “We might spend a lot of time together, but we’re careful about not doing anything where we can get caught. Well, except for today on the basketball court, but we were closed in, so it wasn’t that bad.” His voice lowers. “I don’t want to get you in any kind of trouble, Tony. Not with Nat, not with the board, not with anybody.”

Tony puts both elbows on the table now, and folds his hands under his chin. “What kind of trouble do you think I’d get into, Peter? You’re twenty-two, and sure, you’re my Intern, but the worst the board could do is kick me off. Then I’d leave the company, sell my shares, start a new company while taking all my patons with me, and generally not give a shit what the board thinks of my love life. While probably making more money than I am now, having a public company.” Tony takes another sip of his wine. “I’m sorry, were you trying to make getting caught being your boyfriend sound even more appealing to me?”

“So, you don’t mind getting caught?” Peter asks cautiously. “But, if you don’t mind, why are we keeping it from the team?” He’s hopelessly confused right now. Maybe he is as young as Tony keeps saying.

“It’s fun. Isn’t it fun? I think it’s fun,” Tony tells him. “It’s like playing a game where losing is still winning, and I like those kinds of games.”

“Oh.” It’s all Peter can think to say, because he’s shocked. At least a little part of him felt like Tony’s dirty secret, and it was fun to think that, sometimes. Then, sometimes it wasn’t. “Do you think I should tell Aunt May about us? So we don’t end up in the tabloids or something and then she finds out the hard way?” If the tabloids knew that Peter Parker was more than just an intern at Stark Industries, that he was Spider Man, they’d have photographers knee deep outside the restaurant right now, trying to get pictures.

“Maybe. No, definitely. We don’t want her to find out the hard way. She looks like she could have a mean right hook,” Tony decides, thinking of his precious face and his aversion to black eyes. “Think she’ll hit me very much, after you tell her? I could be with you when you do, if that would make it better. Then she could get the hitting out of the way immediately.”

“She’s not gonna hit you,” Peter assures him. “She’ll be shocked, and she’ll want to know if I’m gay, and I don’t know what to tell her. I don’t feel gay. Is that even a thing? I just know that I’ve been in love with exactly two people and they happened to be opposite genders.” Peter worries a little bit about this, but not enough to feel bad about what he’s doing. What he’s doing with Tony is just so right. “I know I love you more than I ever thought I could love somebody.”

“Is gay a thing? I’m pretty sure, but I wouldn’t know, personally. I think I’m probably on the pansexaul scale of things, if we’re being perfectly honest, because I don’t care about gender at all. I’m more… sapiosexual. I want to make love to your brain,” Tony’s eyes widen theatrically with the last word, before he picks up his glass of wine and finishes it. “Presently, I’m Peter Parker sexual, because you wear me out too much to keep any side lovers.” That’s not funny, Tony. “Uh. Not that I would. Um.”

“I’m really glad I’ve got the spider thing going for me. And my brain. And whatever else it is about me that keeps you coming back for more.” Tony totally put his foot in it, but Peter doesn’t grill him on it, because he can tell it was a quip gone bad. Tony’s his. He’s Tony’s. They have a thing and he’s going to tell his Aunt May about it and move in with him.” Grinning broadly, Peter leans back against his chair back, his thighs splayed just a bit. “This is the best date I’ve ever been on, Tony. I can’t wait to get you home and show you your surprise.” Home. He can call it that, because he’s going to live there.

“Hey, look at that… All my stuff just became your stuff. How does it feel? It’s not my bed anymore. It’s our bed. Our bedroom. Our penthouse. Can you handle the awesome? Because I’m handling the awesome really well, I think,” Tony says with a grin, liking the cocky way the kid sits back in his chair.

“It’s definitely an upgrade from my bedroom in Queens,” Peter grins. “I might be insufferable for a while. Just living it up on your dime. Buying expensive suits and flashy cars. You did give me a black card. No more poor little stripper-boy for me.” More importantly, it’s Tony giving him a place in his life, and that means the world to him. More than penthouses and suits and flashy cars combined.

“Feel free to toss in the occasional Sugar Daddy to my titles, if you want,” Tony tells him with yet another grin. The kid is great at making him smile, and even laugh. He reaches across the table, and offers up his hand, palm up, to take the other man’s into it. “Did I make you happy? I really like the parts when I make you happy.”

“Yeah, Tony. I’m happy. Really, really happy,” he promises as he slides his hand into the other man’s. He gazes dreamily down at their hands, and a corner of his mind starts to think about what Tony’s hand might look like with a ring on it. Something big and heavy. Steel, not gold. Because what else would Iron Man wear? When he raises his eyes to Tony’s they have a glow to them, the brown alight with happiness. “You’re happy, too, right?”

“You bet I am. Ready to blow this joint? The server’s headed this way with the check, I’m guessing, unless he’s going to ask for an autograph, too,” Tony says, giving Peter’s hand a squeeze. He keeps holding it after the server gets to the table, just to show off his date a little. He has to let go to get out his wallet and card, and then the server is whisking the card and check away to pay it and bring it back to be signed. Once the signing is done, Tony looks back to Peter. “Want to go to another place, while we’re already out?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Stark,” Peter says happily, reaching for his hand as they walk through the restaurant. He’ll let go, once they’re outside, if Tony wants, but for right now... Everybody here’s already seen them hold hands, so why not hold it just a bit longer? “Am I allowed to know where we’re going, or is it a surprise?”

“I was hoping for ideas, actually. Where would you like to go?” Tony asks, squeezing the kid’s hand. He doesn’t mind holding it. He likes it, really. And, it has him wondering if he’s being stared at for being Tony Stark, or if he’s being stared at for being in his fifties, with a twenty-two year old holding his hand.

The world may never tell.

“I’m not too familiar with this part of town,” he admits, looking around at the very, very nice neighborhood. This is the Upper East Side, land of rarified air. “Maybe we could just walk a while and see if anything comes to us.” Peter offers out, squeezing the older man’s hand easily as they stroll along, dark eyes on the lookout for something they might do. “We never did make it to the bar, that time we tried it.”

“You want to go to the bar?” Tony asks, his thumb stroking along the side of Peter’s hand. “I’m not sure what we’d do there, now that we’re not going to pick up chicks. I guess… I don’t know… drink?” Tony seems puzzled by this thought. “Oh. There’s karaoke. We could make fools of ourselves. Unless you can actually sing. Then I’ll make a fool of myself, and clap really hard for you when it’s your turn.”

“Maybe not tonight, then,” Peter decides, thinking aloud. “We could go one night and you could try to pick me up. But, tonight, you’ve already paid for me...” he reminds him tugging him back in the direction of Avenger Tower.

“I did pay for you. Oh, fuck, I felt that go straight to my cock. You’re good. Really good,” Tony tells the kid, easily tugged along back toward home. “Do I remember you saying you had a surprise in store for me?” he asking next, trying to figure out what it might be.

“You did, and I do. Daddy.” Peter says the word quietly, but he close enough to Tony that he knows the man heard it. They approach Stark Tower and head directly back to the elevator, but there are some definite stares as they walk through the lobby hand in hand and Tony’s mobile is ringing before they even make it to the penthouse. “Nat?” Peter asks, nodding at the ringing phone.

Tony checks his phone, and clears his throat. “Yep.” He sends the call to voicemail. “There. Now we get to hear a recording of her barely controlled anger, and pick it apart over popcorn before I call her back.”

“You know she’s just going to take the jet and show up here unannounced, right?” Peter asks, worried their night of fun just vanished in a poof of smoke. And that maybe he wore that Spider Man g-string for nothing, after all. Maybe they can hurry. Surely they have at least an hour before she breaks down the door.

“I’m calling her. I should at least try to circumvent her coming over,” Tony says suddenly, pulling out his phone again and dialing her number. It rings, and Nat picks up on the first ring, which is always a great sign.

“Anything you want to tell me, Tony?” she asks tightly, without any greeting. “Is there anything going on in Avenger Tower right now that might impact the team, we should know about? Anything at all?”

“Anything that might impact the team?” Tony asks. “No, I can’t think of anything like that. But what I do have to tell you is that there’s a semi-unwilling twenty-two year old tied to my bed right now, and I’m not thinking so straight anymore.”

Peter groans, just from what he can hear of the conversation, certain, at this point Nat’ll be here in an hour.

“Not funny, Tony,” Natasha snaps at him. “Peter? What the hell are you thinking?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking what I’m thinking with, first? That might narrow down what I’m thinking about much faster,” Tony says brightly in return, watching the groaning Peter. “Shhh, Daddy’s here, Peter. Let me just tighten this corset a little.”

“It’s not funny, Tony,” Natasha snaps, gathering what she needs to make a quick trip into the city.

“Who’s laughing? Clearly not Peter. I gagged him,” Tony tells her, listening to her angrily gather up things. He can practically see her doing it. He could even literally see, if he pulls up the right security camera feed. Assuming she’s not in her bedroom or the bathroom.

Natasha stops in her tracks, her mouth falling open. “Oh, my god,” she says her voice almost blank. “You actually love him. You wouldn’t fuck around with me like this, if it was just a joke.” Tony’s more likely to joke about the things that are important to him, to deflect them, rather than talk about them head on.

“Nothing says love like BDSM,” Tony confirms her suspicions on multiple levels. “Could you, maybe, not come over? I’m busy.”

“Fine,” she snaps waspishly. “Team meeting, tomorrow at 8 am. You can tell us all about your new relationship then. Let me talk to Peter.”

“Peter, lift your head, Daddy needs to take the gag off,” Tony says cheerfully, before handing Peter the phone.

“H-hello?” Peter stutters into the phone, his voice almost a squeak.

“You sound scared. Are you scared?” Nat’s still willing to go kick Tony’s ass, if Peter’s not alright.

“No, I’m fine. My jaw just hurts a little. From, you know, the gag.” Peter keeps his tone straight, dark eyes flashing to Tony’s, because he wants to see the other man’s reaction.

Tony grins, giving him a thumbs up. He’s so proud right now. He can hear Natasha’s voice coming through the phone’s speaker, but he can’t quite make out what she’s saying. He can make a guess, though, when Peter continues.

“No, 8 am tomorrow is fine. We were going to wait a while before we set the date, but we might as well get it over with, right? All for one and one for all.” Pause. “That’s not us? I thought that was us.” Pause. “Oh, the Three Musketeers. Well, okay then. We’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”

He hands the phone back to Tony, the call already disconnect on Natasha’s end.

“Are you an Avenger now? Did that just happen?” Tony asks, just to confirm the ‘setting the date’ comment the kid made. He pockets his cell phone, then steps closer, hands going to the younger man’s hips, and mouth brushing Peter’s lips.

“What? No. We’re still on for the end of the semester, as far as I know. I think they just want me there tomorrow so they can yell at both of us at the same time,” he rests his hands on Tony’s hips in return and drags his mouth across the older man’s letting his tongue brush the seam of his lips in the passing.

“That’ll make us even closer, I think, getting yelled at together,” Tony’s breath hitches with the words, liking the way that little pink tongue flicks over his lips. “So, about that surprise… Do you need to go get it?”

“Nope.” Peter pushes Tony gently back toward the chair at the workbench and down into it. “Care to ask FRIDAY for some mood music?” he asks in a low tone as he rests a hand on either side of Tony’s head and lowers his upper body to give him a long kiss.

When Tony makes that request and music fills the room, he begins to dance slowly with it, long fingers going to his tie and unknotting it. When it’s open, he slides it off his neck and throws it at Tony, watching with a grin as he catches it and drapes it around his own neck, his eyes never leaving Peter.

Off come the jacket and shirt next, so that Tony’s got a good view of his chest and shoulders as they move, then he’s opening his belt and button, the edge of the Spider Man g-string visible before he turns around and lowers his pants, showing his bare ass. Shoes, socks and suit pants are discarded in a single motion, then Peter turns back around, so Tony can see the Spider Man logo stretched tight over the bulge of his cock.

He dances closer and turns around again, grinding against Tony’s lap, he body undulating as he lowers and raises himself on strong legs. Then, when he finally turns around again, it’s to straddle his lap his head lowering to give him a long, hard kiss.

By the time Peter is kissing him again, Tony is having a hard time staying in this chair. He fists the younger man’s hair, and kisses him with equal fervor, his other hand coming to rest on the kid’s ass and squeeze it slowly. When the kiss breaks, he lets out a pant against moist lips, and mutters, “You’re very sexy. Do you realize that?” Gently, he gathers up the string against the cleft of the younger man’s ass, and gives it a careful pluck.

“I feel sexy, when I’m with you,” Peter breathes out as Tony plucks at his g-string. “The rest of my life, I was just a big nerd, but with you... I can be sexy, too.” It’s hard to do, standing up, when he really wants to stay in Tony’s lap, but he takes a step back, then lowers himself to his knees in front of him, his fingers going to the other man’s fly, lowering the zip, then reaching into his boxers to free his cock. “I’ve never done this before, so be patient with me, Daddy,” Peter begs, looking up at Tony as he lowers his mouth to suck the head of his cock between his lips.

Maybe it’s because Tony’s never been an actual father that ‘Daddy’ is just such a great fucking kink word to him. And who better to say it than this young man, who may have only been his friend once upon a time, but Tony had felt… Well. Paternal. Can’t have both. Can’t be a father figure to someone, and shack up with them. That’s just asking for way too much therapy.

Funny, Tony thought the first time Peter calls him Daddy, he’d feel some explosion of arousal and jump his bones. Instead he gets this introspective bullshit and a general head-fuck.

Wait, now he’s getting a blowjob. This is awesome.

Tony rewinds the words Peter said to him in his head, replaying them a few times, his throat getting tight as a gentle hand filters fingers through dark hair. “You’re doing great, Peter,” is managed hoarsely. Dark eyes look the younger man over slowly as he watches him suck on the head of his cock. How did his total, complete fantasy end up being so young, and so perfect?

Peter can sense the hesitation in Tony, feels it in his stomach, where he senses things, sometimes, so when he’s told he’s doing great, he gives a relieved moan around the other man’s shaft. That feeling goes away as he feels the hand in his hair and he decides he’s doing well enough sucking at the head to try and take more of Tony’s length into his mouth. He drops his head a few more inches, and feels like he has to lock his jaw open to keep from scraping the thick shaft with his teeth as it forces his mouth wide. 

A few more inches, and he’s gagging around Tony’s cock, with thick ropes of saliva bursting forth, past his lips to spill down the inches he hasn’t managed to swallow yet. He wraps his hand around that newly wet skin and begins to stroke as he sucks, stopping every few seconds to gag again.

The heavy thoughts of morality and love start to drift away from Tony’s mind the longer his cock is sucked, until he’s hissing through his teeth, and holding the back of Peter’s head. He doesn’t push him deeper, just lets his hand be a presence there, his other hand tracing fingers along the younger man’s face, down the side of his neck, and across his shoulder. “You’re such a good boy, Peter,” Tony rumbles. Tony knows the power of praise, especially coming from him to a younger person, and most of all to this younger person. “You want to suck it all, don’t you? But you keep gagging, making those hot little sounds. You’re driving me crazy.”

Peter raises his head to pant through his open mouth and respond. “Thank you, Mr. Stark,” he says, his breath coming fast as he tries to crack his jaw by opening it and closing it a few times. Then he pushes his head down hard onto Tony’s cock, sucking him almost completely down his throat this time. He makes a startled ‘umph!’ and coughs around his cock, making his throat flutter around him. He swallows, again and again, until he has the cough and the gag under control and fights his throat to take that last inch, until he looks triumphantly up at Tony through his lashes.

That kinda lovin’... turns a man… to a slave.

The words to the latest song filter into Tony’s consciousness, because of course the mood music is classic rock. This is Tony Stark we’re talking about here. FRIDAY knows what’s up.

It occurs to Tony, about when Peter looks up at him through those long lashes, that Tony really is getting enslaved by what this younger man does to him. He just tossed away his company in a conversation, in the event that his company comes between him and having this young man in his life. He’s risked pissing off the team, maybe even getting kicked out for all he knows, because he wants this young man in his life. And Aunt May might hit him. There’s always that.

Oh. And Pepper. Pepper is going to kill him. Murder him in cold blood.

Not that Tony cares. Tony’s got what he wants, and what he wants, is Peter Parker.

“You did it,” Tony rumbles quietly, smoothing the kid’s hair ever so gently. “Now, sometime soon, I’m going to let you get the full experience of finishing what you’ve started with your mouth, but right now, I’m going to need you to stand, and let me take you to bed,” Tony tells him, hoping he worded that okay so he doesn’t potentially hurt Peter’s feelings or make him think he’s done a bad job. “I just need to come while making you just as crazy as you’re making me. And…” his voice trails off into an embarrassed mutter, “I need to hold you.”

Peter raises his head in a long, smooth motion, then rests his forehead on Tony’s thigh while he tries to catch his breath. “Thank you, Mr. Stark,” he says, his chest heaving with the effort of sucking him the way he had. “I need that, too. I want to look into your eyes while you have me.” Another moment, and Peter’s standing, just as he’d been told to do. He holds out a hand to help Tony to his feet, and kisses him deeply once they’re toe to toe.

It’s a deep but gentle kiss, Tony trying his best not to test the younger man’s jaw anymore than he already has. As he kisses him, he gets his belt undone, and fully opens the mouth of his trousers, before dropping them with his boxers to the floor. “Little help?” he mutters against Peter’s mouth, grinning some, having gotten spoiled by the kid’s habit of helping him out of his shoes, socks, and trousers. And with that g-string, Tony’s looking forward to the view Peter bending over to do it will afford him.

Peter offers up a half smile and bends at the waist, instead of crouching, to get his shoes untied and slide off, along with his socks. Then he’s guiding Tony to step out of his pants and boxers and righting himself to begin working on his shirt and tie, next. It takes him just about a minute to have the older man bare, and his hands stroke along the taut skin, memorizing his body. “God, you’re hot, Mr. Stark,” Peter tells him, his voice hushed as he takes him in.

Having someone as young and beautiful as Peter Parker telling him he’s hot is an ego boost to Tony’s already more than healthy psyche. It has calloused hands going to Peter’s hips, and gripping the sides of that g-string, slowly pulling them upward. “Yeah? I think you’re hot, too,” he mutters, watching the younger man’s reaction to having the cloth pulled tighter against his skin in such sensitive places.

Peter lets out a ragged exhale as the fabric brushes against his entrance, making him hungry for more touches, and puts pressure on his throbbing cock all at the same time. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it and tries a second time. “See, that’s just because you’re confusing me with Spider Man. Because I’m wearing his clothes,” he tries to joke, but he’s not even sure if he’s wording right about now. “I need you, Mr. Stark. Sucking you got me so hard,” he says in a voice that’s just shy of a whimper. “I’m so ready for you...”

“Do you realize that getting horny off of sucking my cock is a huge turn on for me? Because it is,” Tony tells him, letting go of the sides of the g-string, which snaps back down against the kid’s skin, creating faint red marks. Then a calloused hand grabs the back of the g-string and pulls it to the side, while his other hand helps itself to a healthy grope of Peter’s ass, fingers tracing the cleft. “Maybe I should leave this on you when I’m pushing inside you.”

The idea is hot, and thinking about Tony pulling aside the g-string to push into him makes him tremble, even as he realizes that the tight briefs would keep him from getting any meaningful stimulation for his cock.

That’s okay, if that’s the way Mr. Stark wants it. He can be patient. He can wait forever, if he has to. “Maybe you should,” he murmurs quietly, hissing as Tony’s fingers come into deeper contact with his opening.

“Come on, let’s get to bed,” Tony rumbles, giving the young man’s ass another squeeze, before his hand goes to the small of his back to guide him alone. “I want you on your stomach, this time. We haven’t tried that, yet, and I think it’ll go good with the whole g-string thing,” he tells him, giving his own cock a stroke as he watches the younger man move.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Stark,” Peter says obediently, padding ahead of him to the bedroom. Their bedroom, now. He puts a knee to the mattress and leans down on his palms, giving the other man a good view of the stretch of his torso as he climbs into the bed and settles on his stomach, his chin resting on his folded hands. His eyes are closed, waiting for whatever sensation comes first.

Tony stares as the younger man shows off for him, and then he’s climbing into bed over the other. He places his palms on the mattress at either side of the younger man, before his head bows, and he licks a slow path up his spine. That path goes up to his neck, then along the side of it, until he reaches his ear and has the underside of his cock pressed to Peter’s ass. “I intend to take my time, and go really, really slow,” he rumbles. Now, whether or not he’ll be able to manage such a thing with how tight Peter is, that’s a different story.

Peter raises up onto an elbow and turns his head, looking to catch Tony’s mouth in a kiss that feels a little desperate. His cock is throbbing, but denied in this position, and it makes him feel a little crazy. Hearing that this is going to be slow, that it’s going to be a while before he gets to stroke or be stroked makes him groan. The slow arch of Tony’s cock against his ass has him breaking the kiss to bite down on his own forearm, because he has to do something to relieve the tension and biting down feels good.

That desperate kiss feels good, and the groan sounds a little frustrated, which makes Tony grin. “You know, when you’re working, and I’m working, and we’re trying to get things done?” he asks, helping himself to a handful of the kid’s ass, before slapping it firmly. “I stare at this tight little ass, and try not to get hard. Now think of about eight hours of that, usually more, depending on how late we work. Day in, and day out. That’s what-” another slap to his ass, this time on the other side, “-your tight little ass puts me through.”

Peter’s hips arch with each of the blows and he groans out from the combination of words and slaps. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark,” he says contritely, even as he moves his hips from side to side, showing off the hard muscle of that ass. “I don’t mean to make your life hard. I just want to be useful to you.” Fuck, his cock is throbbing hard now, with that little spanking, and he kind of hopes it continues, even if his ass cheeks feel like they’ve had fire poured onto them.

When the beginnings of a spanking goes over so well with the younger man, Tony takes in a sharp breath, a hand smoothing over the reddening skin. He grabs the top hem of the g-string and pulls it up slowly. “You are useful. You’re going to keep being useful. So very useful,” he breathes out, before he’s getting out of bed, and letting the g-string go with an audible snap.

“Stay,” he tells the younger man, even as he heads to his closet, and takes out a leather belt from a rack. He folds it in half, and returns to the bed, showing Peter what he’s got in his hand. “You can veto this, if you want, but if you don’t, I’m going to really get off on making your ass red with this.” He starts tracing the younger man’s back with the cool leather in an almost lazy motion, even as he crouches down to be level with his face, and push fingers into his dark hair, staring into his eyes to get a reading on how his lover is doing.

Peter swallows hard, because adding a belt into the mix is definitely taking things up a notch he hadn’t expected. He shivers at the thought of the soft Italian leather colliding with his skin, but when he speaks, his voice is mostly steady. Mostly. “Do it,” he says before he closes his eyes. His senses go on red alert, letting him know every move Tony makes, almost as intimately as if he had his eyes trained on the man.

“Alright. But if you don’t like it, we stop,” Tony tells the younger man, straightening. A calloused hand cups Peter’s ass, squeezing it slowly as he remains standing beside the bed. The belt is caressed across both cheeks, then up his spine, Tony taking his time, just like he said he would. Then his hand dips between Peter’s thighs, and cups beneath him, groping his straining cock that’s trapped in the g-string. With very gentle motions, he starts jerking that trapped cock, and brings the belt tracing back down to his ass. That’s when he lifts the belt slowly, the motion almost lazy, before snapping it down across that tight ass that torments him so beautifully.

Peter rolls his hips into the jerking of his cock, then yelps when the belt crashes down on his skin. His hips arch forward, pushing his cock through Tony’s fist. And he thought he wasn’t going to get any satisfaction while he was trapped on his stomach. “Thank you, sir,” he pants out, letting his hips keep rolling into Tony’s hand.

“Huh. Someone’s watched kink porn,” Tony decides when he’s thanked for the strike to the younger man’s ass. “Because if you just did that on instinct without some educational videos, I’m going to call bullshit.” Another strike to Peter’s ass, Tony’s voice getting tighter as he keeps jerking that heavy cock through the g-string. “You’re a dirty fucking boy, aren’t you, Peter?” Another strike to his ass, excitement clear in Tony’s voice.

“No bullshit, Mr. Stark. I never watched porn like this,” Peter tells him desperately as his hips arch under the latest blow. He cries out, and his hips work furiously as the heat of that spanking soaks in. He can feel the thin welt rising on his ass from the crack of the leather, and he groans out. “I’m as dirty as you want me to be, sir!” he cries out in answer to his next question.

“No bullshit, huh?” Tony rumbles, cracking the belt again across Peter’s ass. “Just a really well-timed, absolutely perfect response? I think I like that even better.” Deciding to show him how much he likes it, he coaxes the younger man’s cock out of the g-string by pulling the front of it down some, then grips his cock, jerking it fast in time with the furiously working hips.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter cries out plaintively after just a few minutes of that stroking. “You’ve gotta take it easy on me, or I’m gonna come,” he groans out the words, trying to make his hips stop pushing to no avail. “Please, sir,” he moans, and if he doesn’t quite manage to stop his hips, he does at least arch them backward to beg for the next drop of the belt.

That belt snaps down again when those hips lift to beg for it. “Come, Peter. I want you to,” Tony tells him, giving him another snap of that belt. Then he’s tossing it aside, and leaning over the younger man, gripping his hair and muttering into his ear. “Don’t hold back, either. Let me hear it.”

The words tear fresh groans from Peter as his hips buck and saw into Tony’s hand. He pants and moans and cries out Tony’s name over and over as his orgasm mounts. Then he shouts his release as his cock throbs and spills its seed over Tony’s hand to be smeared on his skin and the sheet in equal parts. He keeps pushing through the orgasm, using the older man’s hand to draw out every bit of cum he has stored in his balls, and then he falls, limp, to the bed, still panting.

“Perfect,” Tony praises him, giving the younger man’s softening cock a gentle squeeze before releasing it. He tastes the cum on his fingers, then uses it to lube up his cock, jerking himself with that hand. His other hand in Peter’s hair tugs him by the strands to turn his head toward Tony. “Open your mouth,” he tells the younger man, getting closer, bumping the head of his cock against soft lips.

Peter does as he is told, his mouth opening to take Tony’s cock. He wraps his lips around it and begins to suck, getting the flavor of his own cum off the skin. He doesn’t particularly like it, but beneath that is the tang of Tony’s skin, and he loves that. The more he sucks, the more prevalent Tony’s flavor becomes, until he’s moaning around the shaft.

And that’s all it takes for Tony to blow his load in the younger man’s mouth, jerking himself off fast as Peter sucks the head of his cock. “You’re such a good boy, Peter,” he husks out, balls tight as they push rope after rope of his seed into the younger man’s mouth. Once he’s done coming, Tony pulls back enough for his cock to slip free, and touches under Peter’s chin, muttering, “Let me see the cum in your mouth.”

That stops him in the moment before he was about to swallow, so when he opens his mouth, his tongue is coated with the other man’s sperm. He keeps his mouth open, hoping for permission to swallow, instead of whatever kinky thing Tony might come up with for him to do, instead. He’s all for kink, and he definitely wants to please Tony, it’s just that this first time, he wants to have Tony’s cum inside him.

“You wanna swallow my cum, Peter?” Tony asks him thickly, fingers carding through soft hair slowly as his cock twitches slightly from the question.

Peter nods solemnly, his eyes open and fastened to Tony’s, his mouth held wide, so Tony can see the thick load of cum in his mouth.

“Then you can definitely swallow it,” Tony says in a lust roughened voice, giving his own cock slow jerks now. “Show me your tongue again, after you’ve done it.”

Peter’s lips close around the precious load of cum and he swallows heavily, then opens his mouth to show his clean, pink tongue. He doesn’t speak, even if he wants to tell Mr. Stark how good it tasted.

“Fuck,” Tony hisses out, hard now as he stares at that pink tongue. He keeps jerking himself, and stroking the younger man’s hair. “Okay, g-string off, and roll onto your back. Time to make good on all that slow sex I promised you.” God, he’s horny, and he just came. This is ridiculous.

The g-string is easily shed, as Peter rolls over onto his back, his legs falling open, so that Tony can take his place between his knees. He reaches for the man’s cock, wrapping a long fingered hand around his, so that they stroke together. His other hand slides up Tony’s chest, and he looks up at him with adoration in his eyes. “I can’t wait to have you inside of me,” he breathes out, planting his feet on the mattress and raising his hips to show off his ass to Tony.

Tony couldn’t be happier, and that’s a little scary, feeling this good. He doesn’t overthink it though, instead he just kisses the younger man, and whispers, “I can’t wait to be inside you, Peter.” He means it, too. It just feels like something is missing inside of him when he’s not close enough to this other person. When he’s buried inside of Peter, when he’s so close he can taste him, feel his pulse racing against his chest, and against his lips, that’s when something broken that may never fully heal inside Tony mends, just a little.

Every time he has this experience with Peter, it mends just a little more.


	3. Chapter

 

Since the cat’s out of the bag now, Tony talks Peter into spending the night with him that night. It’s their first night doing that, and it makes the older man feel good, with Peter falling asleep draped over his chest. Sure, that soon enough turns into Peter doing somersaults in the bed in his sleep. The kid’s really athletic. And, yeah, Tony gets headbutted in the ribs at least once, but petting Peter’s hair to soothe away his fighting dreams seems to do the trick.

 

Since they’ll be taking Tony’s helicopter to get to the compound, and that’ll take about an hour, the alarm goes off at 6AM. Tony stares at the ceiling, wondering how much sleep he actually got, but he can’t blame Peter for that. He just… You know… Doesn’t sleep much.

 

“Hey, kid, you awake?” he asks Peter, who’s made his way over to the opposite edge of the bed, trying to get away from the alarm, probably, in his sleep.

 

“I’m awake!” Peter yelps out, sitting bolt upright in the bed, his chest heaving, like he’s startled. His eyes are wide, and he looks around, trying to get his bearing, before his eyes land on Tony and he gives a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Mr. Stark,” he tells the other man, sliding close to offer up a soft kiss. “I was having a dream.”

 

“Yeah? Did you fight lots of bad guys?” Tony murmurs with a grin after he’s turned off the alarm, kissing those soft lips. “Did you save the day?” Fingers stroke through the younger man’s hair slowly. Tony’s in love. There’s no doubt about it, at this point. He’s just throwing up rainbows of mush all over the place. It’s disgusting, really.

 

“I was running away from the team, and Cap bonked me in the head with his shield,” he corrects, giving a nervous laugh. “It really hurt, and then my Aunt May was there, but she was dancing with Mr. Hogan, so she didn’t really do anything. And then  _ you  _ saved  _ me. _ ”

 

“I would beat Steve’s ass if he bonked you on the head,” Tony tells him point blank. “I’ve made some improvements in my suit, and tactics, since our last fight. And I tell you what. I’d beat his ass this time, instead of just  _ almost _ beating him down to a pulp.” Tony’s not too terribly sore about losing that fight. If he’d won, he would have killed Bucky, no questions asked. But Steve wore him out so bad he didn’t have the energy to get the job done, after America’s Ass walked away.

 

“If Cap bonked me on the head with his shield, I probably deserved it,” Peter says, sliding to the edge of the bed and climbing out. Almost immediately, he drops to the floor, counting out pushups. Maybe it’s not strictly necessary to start the day that way, but it feels good and it gets the blood moving, and if he doesn’t do anything else, he can always say he accomplished  _ something _ that morning. 

 

After a long while, he climbs off the floor and shakes out his arms, then reaches for his clothes. “You don’t think they want us in uniform for this, do you? Like, I usually only wear it when I need to, not just for meetings and stuff. Plus, if I wear mine, you’ll wear yours, and then you’ll just fly there on your own and I’ll be all bored in the helicopter. Flying must be handy, huh, Mr. Stark?”

 

“If this is a hint where you want to get flying capabilities for your suit? No. Not happening. It’s bad enough you run around all of New York not sleeping. If I give you ‘wings,’ you’d go to the Middle East and stop thousand year wars,” Tony tells him, having enjoyed watching all those pushups. He used to do stuff like that, back in his day. Now he just… Well. Has a trainer he’s been dodging lately, because sex counts as going to the gym, right?

 

Earnest eyes widen with the words, “No, sir. I was just saying that it must suck, having to ride with me. Unless, you know, we have to wear our suits. Like I said. Because I don’t like to wear mine all the time,” except he does, quite frequently wear his beneath his clothes.

 

“I’m not wearing my suit. I’m taking the helicopter. And it doesn’t suck to ride with you. Unless you want it to suck. Then, well, the pilot might get uncomfortable and sue me for sexual harassment. Incidentally, is it  _ really _ sexual harassment if I’m getting my dick sucked, and the other guy is just having to hear it while pretending he doesn’t?”

 

“I don’t know, Mr. Stark. I think it probably counts,” Peter’s voice is muffled as he pulls his shirt on, then reaches for his pants. “I think the part where he has to pretend he doesn’t hear it might make him uncomfortable.”

 

“Well, he can’t very well participate, because then who’s going to fly my helicopter?” Tony counters, sliding out of the bed. “I know you’re doing the thing where you’re getting dressed, but considering everything we did last night, we both need a shower. Or else we’ll smell like sex, and I think that might  _ anger _ them even more than they’re already going to be.” With that, he rounds the bed, and starts stripping the younger man with a kiss. Something he enjoys doing immensely.

 

Having his clothes taken off elicits a response that is already hard-wired into his brain. He hisses out a breath and his cock starts to stir, getting half hard from the act of being undressed alone. “Sorry about that, Mr. Stark,” he mumbles apologetically. “It’s just used to you taking my clothes off being a precursor to sex, not showers.”

 

“Well, now we’re just going to have to have both,” Tony states, voice a little thicker from eliciting such a reaction in the other man. He puts his hand to the small of Peter’s back, and ushers him along toward the bathroom. “There’s even a convenient bench in the shower, for all your sex needs. You know the one. You’ve been in my shower before. Uh. Our shower. We share everything now.”

 

“Never thought my first apartment would have a bench in the shower,” Peter states as he’s ushered into the room with the large walk-in shower and separate tub big enough to host a toddler swim class. “I was just hoping the hot water would work, so this is pretty cool.” He pads into the shower, then waits for Tony to adjust the water with his hands folded behind his back. Because if he doesn’t do something with them, he’s going to start stroking his cock, and he’d rather wait to see what Tony has in mind than get started without him.

 

Along the way, Tony grabs the lube. Sure, he could use soap or something for lube, but that’s just not as good, really. Then he’s setting it down on a shelf in the shower, and getting the hot water going. It comes down from the center of the ceiling, in a large square, like rain, with the outer edges of the rectangular shower open to stand under without having to be under the water, if one wishes. Tony tugs Peter closer to him, so the younger man steps under the water, then past it to the other side, with the water to his back. The older man kisses him deeply, then breaks the kiss, saying suddenly, “We might be late. I just realized.”

 

“I thought about that, but there’s not much I can do about it, since you’re my ride,” Peter says wrapping his arms around Tony’s neck and kissing him again. “Or, we could just, like, be  _ really _ fast and show up on time and make them wonder. Think you could be that fast with me, Mr. Stark?”

 

“See, you’re definitely a genius, because you knew if you made that sound like a challenge-” Tony begins, and as he does, he’s turning Peter to face the wall, and positioning his hands against it, “-that I’d go for it without arguing my way out of it. That’s something I really like about you, Peter.” He grabs the lube, and smears it on his cock, bowing his head to pick a spot on Peter’s shoulder as he does, biting and sucking. He doesn’t often leave marks on that pale skin, but when he does, he makes them where the clothes will hide them.

 

“I like  _ everything _ about you, Mr. Stark. Especially how much you like a challenge,” Peter replies, his breath catching as Tony bites down on his shoulder. It makes him arch his hips back, his ass seeking Tony’s cock and sliding along the sensitive underside. When he can feel the head of his cock at the right place, he pushes backward, so that he presses to his tight entrance, and groans from the sensation of it.

 

“You want it now, just like that, huh?” Tony murmurs, because usually the older man fingers Peter first, because he  _ is _ so tight. “Well, I’m going to give you exactly what you want,” he adds tightly, and pushes his hips forward. The head of his cock pushes into that tight entrance, and then, instead of waiting, a hand goes into Peter’s hair and pulls sharply as he rocks his hips suddenly forward, making him take most of his cock. It has his body just about flush against the younger man’s, palm slapping against the shower wall near Peter’s head, with the other hand stays tightly fisted in his hair.

 

Peter cries out sharply when Tony penetrates him. It’s an intense stretch, taking him without being warmed up to it, but if feels fucking fantastic. He arches his hips back, helping the older man slide more deeply into him and his cock jumps to attention from its half hard state. “Fuck me, Tony,” he begs quietly. “I want you fast and hard and without mercy.”

 

“That’s the plan,” Tony says tightly, his hand coming off the wall to grip Peter’s hip. Normally, he might feel a little bit guilty about fucking someone he loves like he loves Peter like this, but if anyone can take, and even  _ need _ a hard fucking, it’s Spider Man. So Tony gives it to him, thrusting hard and fast, biting down on Peter’s other shoulder to give him a matching bruise. His hand in his hair drags down the younger man’s neck, shoulder, along his side to his other hip, which he grips tightly.

 

Each thrust earns Tony another sharp cry, with Peter doing nothing to hold them back. “Fuck, Tony,” Peter bites out the words, having subconsciously decided he’s ‘Tony’ for this hard fucking. An equal, not somebody he’s subservient to. “Harder. I need you to fuck me like an animal.” He’s sore already, and he might walk with a limp after this, but he needs more, needs to be raw and used with Tony’s cum soothing him from the inside.

 

“Good idea. FRIDAY, play Closer by Nine Inch Nails,” Tony bites out, making a silent goal of having Peter come before the end of the song. He slows way down for a few seconds, because that feels really good, after the hard start, and then he lets it build to a harder fucking again, his right hand sliding up Peter’s spine, until he’s gripping the younger man’s shoulder tightly, to go along with holding his left hip. He’s paying attention to the sounds Peter makes, and the tension in his body, because he doesn’t want to  _ hurt _ him. But he does want to give him what he’s asked for.

 

The tension ratchets up to something terrible, and Peter  _ needs  _ to stroke his cock. Unfortunately, he also needs both hands to brace himself against the wall of the shower, so he doesn’t end up with a broken nose from the force of Tony’s thrusts. He finds a compromise by pressing his right cheek to the tile, along with his chest and his right shoulder, thus freeing his right hand to stroke himself. He gives a sigh of relief when he wraps his hand around his cock, and his head clears enough to appreciate how hard of a fucking he’s truly taking right now. “You’re fucking perfect, Tony,” he says in a fervent, hoarse voice. “This is fucking perfect.”

 

“I know, but I never get tired of hearing that,” Tony tells him tightly, before he’s slowing down again. What he lacks in speed now, he makes up for with short, hard thrusts that have his cock staying mostly buried, ones that rock the younger man’s body with each impact of his hips against that tight ass. His hand moves to wrap around the front of Peter’s throat, squeezing slowly, knowing it must do things to his spider senses to have a possible threat come into play, like it had with the belt last night. That’s why he does it, like sprinkling a little crack cocaine into the other man’s system, to go along with the flood of hormones that the sex itself causes.

 

Having his air cut off makes the fine hairs stand up on Peter’s arms, and he’d groan, but there’s no air to do it with. His heart speeds up, and his muscles tremble with barely repressed violence, but that repression is the crack Tony means it to be. It’s like living on the edge of a knife, like feeling the blade pressing to your spine while you try to sleep.

 

It’s all it takes, Peter finishing with a silent scream, his cum coating his fingers and his abdomen, his hips ticking forward, as he slumps against the wall, barely able to stand on knees that tremble so badly he has to lock them to keep them from giving way.

 

And still, his tight ass is fucked.

 

“You’re  _ mine _ ,” Tony snarls into Peter’s ear as the younger man hits his climax. And then he’s helping to hold him up, a strong arm wrapping around Peter’s torso as his hips pound harder against that tight ass once more. This is one of the most important parts about getting fucked, in Tony’s opinion. It’s the part where the man he’s fucking still gets fucked after he comes, so he gets a nice, healthy dose of feeling used by Tony. That’s the kind of thing that both men might think about later, and get turned on by.

 

What can he say? Tony likes making the good memories.

 

The song finishes, and another starts, FRIDAY having the good sense to pick a song by Marilyn Manson to continue things. Personal Jesus. It’s highly appropriate, really.

 

When Tony feels the younger man’s body start to weaken further from a lack of oxygen, he lets his throat go, and grabs his hair instead, pulling hard to arch his head back. He kisses his ear, then just breathes into it, the sounds mostly snarls, and quiet grunts as he fucks that tight ass until he’s insane.

 

And then he comes, hips bucking forward until they’re flush with Peter’s ass, filling it with his seed. As his cum fills the younger man’s ass, he nuzzles Peter’s face very slowly, his body starting to calm down already from tormentor to affectionate teddy bear. As his cock begins to soften inside the younger man, he starts peppering kisses to his ear, his cheek, and turns his head with the hand in Peter’s hair to seek out a kiss for his lips.

 

Peter gives him that kiss, grateful for the affection, but when Tony’s arm loosens from his waist, he sinks to his knees, head bowed as he holds his upper body up with his knuckles pressed to the shower floor in front of him. His chest heaves and his eyes are squeezed shut, as he feels the dopamine and the serotonin flood his brain to make him feel fuzzy.

 

“That was intense,” he says quietly, when his breath is caught enough for words.

 

Tony’s stepped back some, to give Peter room, which has him standing under the shower water. He reaches forward, a hand smoothing through the younger man’s hair slowly, even as his body sways ever so slightly from still being on his own feet. Tony’s getting old. He might not be able to do what he just did, ten years from now.

 

“It was,” Tony says solemnly. “You were great. I felt insane, but you were amazing,” he breathes out hoarsely.

 

“That’s me. The Amazing Spider Man. I think somebody wrote a book called that, once,” he says, his voice distant. He pushes to his feet with a grunt, feeling every bit of that hard fucking he’d just taken and turns around to face Tony with a tired smile.

 

“If they didn’t, I’ll write the book,” Tony tells him, cupping the back of Peter’s head and pressing a gentle kiss to the younger man’s forehead. “I love you. I love you so much it scares me, a little, because of all the fucked things in this world that could happen to you.” Tony knows all about fucked things happening to the people he loves, after all.

 

“What about you? You chase danger all over the globe. I at least keep it to the five boroughs,” he says quietly, letting his forehead press to Tony’s. “I need you. In that ‘for the rest of my life’ kind of way. So, you’ve gotta stay as safe as you can, ‘cause I’ve got a long life ahead of me, Tony.”

 

“I’ll do my best,” Tony promises him, and he means it. He nuzzles his nose to the younger man’s, then presses a soft kiss to his lips. “You ready to feel like a Greek god with a highly attractive man servant washing you? Because that’s about to happen.”

 

Peter hums his approval for that idea. “I thought being the man servant was  _ my _ job, but I think I like this idea.” He takes a last kiss then steps under the water and tips his head back so that his hair is wetted thoroughly and ready for shampoo. Tony washes his hair slowly, taking the time to massage his scalp, then washes his body with worshipful hands.

 

Peter has never felt so cared for or so attractive in his life. It’s like Tony’s hands are turning him into that Greek god he promised he’d be. When he’s clean, he does the same for Tony, letting his love come through in the way he washes and, eventually dries his body. Like it’s the most precious thing on the planet, because for him, it is.

 

They aren’t very late to their meeting, and neither Nat nor Cap says anything about it when the two men stroll in holding hands. Tony looks as calm and cool as ever and Peter tries desperately to copy him, but the knuckles of the hand holding Tony’s are white.

 

“Little… less… pressure, Underoos,” Tony tells Peter quietly, when he can’t quite take the grip anymore. Once Peter loosens his death grip on the older man’s hand, he lets it go, flexes it, then wraps that arm around him, tugging him close for a kiss to his temple.

 

There. That should make Nat and Cap a little sick, seeing how fucking much in love they are.

 

“So, is this an intervention? Because there’s not nearly enough people for that, in my opinion,” Tony says easily, looking over at Nat and Cap.

 

“This is more of a what the fuck are you doing, Tony?” Nat says in her husky voice, without any heat in the words.

 

“We’re worried about you. And Peter,” Steve adds, trying to smooth things over a little bit. “This is really sudden, and something like this could affect the team dynamic, if we still bring Peter on board after his graduation.”

 

“Wait! You mean I might not be an Avenger now?” Peter says, his face going pale. This is something he’s looked forward to for a long time. Gotten ready for. Sacrificed for.

 

“So let me get this straight. All of you can fuck around, and don’t make me list who’s doing what because it’s a long one, but if I mess around, it’s bad, because I’m Satan picking on an angel, right?” Tony scoffs, crossing his arms. He hasn’t even sat down yet. No one’s sitting. Everyone just standing there staring at each other. “Fuck it. You think this will be bad for the team? I don’t need to be on the team. I don’t work well with others anyway.”

 

Natasha looks angry by Tony’s outburst, because she  _ thought _ her extracurriculars were a little better hidden than that. “That’s not the point, Tony. Last week, this kid was your mentee and now you’re parading him around Manhattan like a new puppy. We’re  _ worried  _ about you.”

 

“Hey!” Peter looks indignant at the comparison, but he doesn’t get a chance to say much before Tony cuts in.

 

“You’re not worried about me. You’re worried about the image of the team, and maybe you’re worried about him, but definitely not me,” Tony snaps. “You got a point to make here, or are we going to argue about something that isn’t going to change?”

 

“I’m not worried about any of those things, Tony,” Steve says quietly. “I’m worried about whether sending you and Peter into a fight together is good for the team. What if something comes down to Peter or the mission? Nobody could ask you to make that choice, and it puts us in a tight spot. We need to  _ all _ be able to trust one another.”

 

“You mean like, when Bucky killed my parents, and you protected him?” Tony asks, arching his brows.

 

“Yeah, Tony. Like that.” Steve says heavily, because Tony hit the nail on the head.

 

“So maybe I don’t become an Avenger,” Peter pipes up from where he’d taken a seat on a couch, his mind working fast. “Maybe you guys can call me, if you need me, and I’ll just keep on doing my thing in New York. Then none of this is an issue, right? Right, Tony?”

 

“Or maybe I’m not an Avenger anymore, and you can be one. I’m getting old anyway,” Tony says to Peter, looking over at him with a tired smile. After all, he knows how much this means to Peter. While honestly? Tony’s going to do whatever the fuck Tony wants to do, whether or not he’s on the team, so it doesn’t really matter. If they need him for something, and they will, they’ll come crawling over, because Bruce turned himself into a half-as-smart-almost-genius with that Hulk merging trick, like a dum-dum.

 

“I don’t think that’d be a good idea,” Peter tells him, looking down to study the backs of his hands, where they hang between his knees. “I don’t think many people would appreciate my presence if I shouldered you out to get here. And you contribute more to the team than I’d be able to do. You’re  _ Iron Man _ . I’m just the friendly neighborhood Spider Man,” Peter’s tone is a little mournful, but it’s sure. He’s right on this one.

 

“Listen to the kid, Tony,” Natasha urges him in a quiet voice. “Don’t quit the team. We need you. The whole world does.”

 

“You know who else is a genius? Peter. Peter’s smarter than me,” Tony counters, crossing his arms, not liking how this whole situation is kicking his puppy around. “Peter could do everything I do, if anyone would let him. And he’d give you less attitude for it.”

 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter says quietly, pushing to his feet. “But, if I was an Avenger, I’d have to spend all my time here at the Compound. And if you  _ weren’t _ an Avenger, I’d never see you. So. I guess I’d rather just work for Stark Industries, if you think you can find a job for me. Something that won’t encroach on the Spider Man gig too much.”

 

“Who made these rules again? Because I don’t remember making any rules,” Tony complains. Tony’s a rule-free kind of guy, really. “Oh, I am  _ definitely _ not on this team. You can both fuck yourselves,” he says, pointing at Nat, then Steve, “Or each other, I don’t care. But I’m done. I’m taking my puppy and going home.”

 

“Not a puppy,” Peter grumbles under his breath, waiting to follow Tony’s lead.

 

“You’ll appreciate that joke when we’re older,” Tony assures Peter, getting the door for him. He flips Nat and Steve off on his way out, then shuts the door behind them, heading back for the helicopter. “They’ll be begging both of us to be on the team by the time you’re done with college. A few weeks with The Jolly Green Dum-Dum as head of R&D will make them hurt so bad, they’ll forget all about how self-righteous they’re feeling right now.”

 

“I don’t think they were feeling self-righteous, Tony,” Peter says quietly. “I think they think I’m your midlife crisis, but didn’t want to say that in front of me.” Maybe he  _ is _ a midlife crisis. He certainly fits the criteria for one. But, if this is how he gets to have Tony, he doesn’t care.

 

“Midlife crises have to be stupid. You’re not stupid. You’re a genius. If you were completely useless for anything other than having a hot body, on top of being half my age, I’d said you might have a point. But you’re motherfucking Spider Man. So, your point is invalid,” Tony tells him, opening the helicopter door for him. “You’re the best upgrade to my love life I could have made.”

 

“You know that. I know that,” well, he knows that now he’s been told, but still. “But, they don’t know that. And we didn’t show them that, when we went in there. We showed them what they wanted to see: that together we’re not good for the team. We could be  _ great _ for the team together, but now we’ll never know.”

 

“You’re right. Sucks for them. I’m still Iron Man, though, and you’re still Spider Man. I don’t really see what changes, except now I don’t have other people breathing down my neck telling me how to super hero.” Tony states as they buckle in.

 

“You gonna downgrade from protecting earth to a single city, like me?” Peter asks softly, because the idea is ridiculous. “‘Cause if so... I was here first, so that makes you the sidekick.”

 

“Kid, I was protecting the world before they slapped a bunch of superheroes together and called them the Avengers. I’m going to keep doing what I do. New York is fine with you protecting it. But, you know, if you ever  _ need my help _ , I’ll make time,” Tony says with a grin.

 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter says cheerfully, laughing at that. So, he’s still got New York and he’s still got Tony. He shouldn’t be smarting from losing his place on the Avengers, and maybe he won’t be after a little while. But for right now, it still stings. “You hungry? It’ll be lunch time by the time we get back to New York, and Aunt May is off today. We could have lunch, if you’re feeling brave.”

 

“Lunch with Aunt May? Do the big reveal in public? Confess I’m not taking her out to get into her panties after all, because I’m wearing your underoos on my head instead?” Tony asks, brows arching. “I’m feeling brave. Let’s do it.”

 

“You’re lucky I’m not a better nephew,” Peter points out helpfully. “Or I’d leave you to her, instead of grabbing you for myself.” Sure, Aunt May has a little bit of a crush on Tony, but then again, so does just about every woman of a certain age in the country. “It’ll be a shock, but when she sees that I’m happy, she’ll be good.”

 

“Don’t be a good nephew. Be a bad, bad nephew,” Tony tells him, leering at him from across the small space that separates them. Uh oh. Tony’s getting ideas in his head. That can’t be good. At least not good for the helicopter pilot. “You know, sitting in a seat all buckled in is kinda for normal people. Spider Man probably wouldn’t even flinch if this helicopter fell out of the air. You could just web your way out of the situation.”

 

“Are you suggesting we jump out of a perfectly good helicopter?” Peter asks him, nervous at the prospect. Because it’s one thing to swing a thousand feet off the air in a fight, but something else entirely to do it on the fly like that. “I mean, it would be free fall, until we got close enough for me to find something to sling a web to. And hopefully we wouldn’t snap our necks from the recoil of stopping that quickly.”

 

“No. I’m suggesting you climb out of your seat, and into my lap,” Tony deadpans.

 

“Oh. Well. Okay,” Peter says relieved. He unbuckles his seat belt and slides over to drape himself across Tony’s lap. Long arms wrap around his neck and Peter rests his head on the other man’s shoulder for a minutes, thinking about not being an Avenger. Ned’s going to be  _ so _ disappointed.

 

Tony can feel the kid thinking, an arm wrapping around him, his other hand rubbing the younger man’s back in slow, up and down motions. “I meant it when I said I didn’t have to be on the team, but you could, you know. They’d be grateful to have you. Either way, I’m not going back unless they take us both. They’re hypocrites, anyway, fucking around with each other, and expecting  _ me _ of all people to keep it in my pants.”

 

“And I meant it when I said I’d rather be with you. I don’t want to do it without you,” Peter says softly. “Part of what I was excited about was the chance to fight alongside my friends. Especially  _ you _ . Even before we were together, you were the one I cared about impressing. It’s just going to take a little time for the disappointment to wear off, I guess.”

 

“That means a lot to me, Peter,” Tony tells the younger man quietly into his ear. Just loud enough to be heard over the helicopter. He keeps rubbing his back with slow, gentle motions, fingers pushing into the hair at the back of his neck every now and then, then dragging down his spine. He can’t decide if he’s trying to put the kid to sleep, or get him riled up.

 

Peter can’t decide, either, because he’s getting relaxed in that sort of way he does when he’s getting close to sleep, but he’s also wishing there wasn’t an audience, so he could straddle Tony’s lap and do some serious making out.

 

Since he figures one of those things isn’t a good idea, he concentrates on the other, until his head is heavy on Tony’s shoulder. He plays with the other man’s hair with his right hand, letting it smooth through the strands to try and relax him as much as possible, so they can just be cozy for the rest of the flight.

 

When they land, Peter calls Aunt May and asks her to lunch, with him and Tony. She seems surprised, but agrees easily to meet them at the penthouse, after they decided to tell her in private, and then take her out to eat.

 

She’s a little bit apprehensive, when she steps into the penthouse, but she’s also a little bit in awe of the place, which mostly takes over her expression when she sees the view and Tony hands her a drink.

 

“Aunt May, there’s something we,  _ I _ , need to tell you,” Peter says, as soon as she’s had a seat on the couch. She loses the expression of awe when her eyes narrow on him. 

 

“No. Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

 

“Aunt May,” Peter tries again, feeling a little bit like a kid asking permission to date an older man, instead of an adult telling his family about a new love. It’s funny how other people can make him feel that way, but Tony never has.

 

Even with his old man kink.

 

“I’m not asking for anything. Well, other than an open mind.” He shoots Tony a helpless look, wishing the much smoother older man could just step in and do this for him. “Tony and I are dating,” he blurts out in a rush. “It’s new, but it’s serious.”

 

Tony just keeps standing there by the bar, dark eyes looking between the two. From the shocked look on May’s face, to the apprehensive look on Peter’s. He’s got the bar between him and May, at least, where he can dart around and get away, should that be needed.

 

Tony Stark isn’t above running away from a mad woman.

 

“How serious is serious?” May asks, dark eyes narrowing on Tony to answer the question. Any fool can see that Peter’s head over heels in love, but what about the infamous playboy, Mr. Stark?

 

The urge to make a smartass comment is strong in Tony, but so is he sense of self-preservation. So he clears his throat, stalls a moment to take a drink of his bourbon, then says from his safe distance, “I love Peter. I always have. It just clicked here recently that I could  _ love _ Peter, too.” It’s not his best speech, but Tony’s a bit nervous.

 

She’s shocked for a moment, and then she bursts out laughing. It’s a long laugh, that leaves her slapping her knee and snorting a little bit. She may, in fast be a bit hysterical. “And here I thought,” she hoots out, “You wanted to tell me that you’re dropping out of college to join the Avengers. Or take a job at Stark Industries.” Her laughter stops abruptly. “Wait. You  _ are _ still finishing college, right?”   
  


“Yes, Aunt May,” Peter rushes to assure her, though he’s a little flummoxed by the laughter. What, exactly does that mean? Is she happy for him, or just happy that she wasn’t right about the meaning of this meeting.

 

“What about MJ?” she asks next, giving Peter a long look. “She’s all I heard about for  _ years _ and now, all of a sudden, she’s nothing?”

 

“She’s not nothing. It’s just...” Peter drops onto the sofa behind him, now he knows that nothing crazy’s going to happen. “Things haven’t been right for a long time. And I knew when we broke up last time it was the  _ last  _ time, you know? And then things fell into place with Tony, and that’s what I want. He gets me, like nobody else ever has. Like nobody else ever  _ could _ .”

 

“So, what, you’re gay now? Or bi?” She continues, a little bit uncomfortably. “Because you know I support you, no matter what,” she rushes to add. “It’s just a little shocking. There were no clues we might have this conversation some day.”

 

“I don’t know,” Peter says honestly, looking down at his hands. “My attraction to Tony isn’t because he’s a  _ him _ and I wouldn’t be more attracted to him if he was a  _ her _ , either. I just love him. That’s all I know. I haven’t suddenly started looking at men on the streets, or anything, but to be honest, I haven’t been looking at women since we got together, either. All I see is him.”

 

That has Tony knocking back the rest of his drink, and venturing over to the couch to sit beside Peter. He wraps an arm around the younger man, and gives him a squeeze, as well as a kiss on the temple. Then he drops back against the couch, his arms spreading over the back of it, and thighs splaying arrogantly as he looks over at May.

 

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Tony tells her solemnly.

 

“So, what? You’re going to marry him and live happily ever after?” she asks him with a raised eyebrow, incredulous at the thought of  _ the _ Tony Stark settling down this late in life.

 

“Aunt May!” Peter says, flushing a dark red as she asks Tony the question. He’s embarrassed that she’s put him on the spot in a way that probably isn’t going to help their case.

 

“If he doesn’t dump me first for a better model,” Tony says evenly.

 

Boom.

 

Better model? Like the world is teeming with billionaire, philanthropist, superheroes that are just beating down Peter’s door. He snorts, as if to say ‘That’s likely’ before he turns his head far enough to see eye to eye with Tony. “That’s not happening,” he says softly. “They haven’t made a better model.”

 

“Okay, then,” Aunt May says, shamefaced for embarrassing Peter that way, and also for witnessing such an intimate moment between the two men. “Well,” she tries to recover, offering the pair of them a tremulous smile, “In that case, welcome to the family. You’re hosting Christmas this year.”

 

Tony watches Peter when the kid gives him that reassurance, a calloused finger lifting to trace one of his cherubic cheeks, before tapping under his chin gently. Then he drags his gaze to May, and cracks a smile. “Sure, I can do that. I love throwing parties.”

 

“We do ham, not goose. And Turkey’s only for Thanksgiving,” she says. “And, I’ll bring an apple pie for dessert. I make a killer apple pie. How do you feel about Dirty Santa for gifts?” she babbles a little because she doesn’t know what else to do. 

 

“Maybe we can hold off plans for Christmas until  _ after _ the end of May, Aunt May. I still have to graduate,” Peter reminds her, casting her a lifeline. “And,” he looks back at Tony, “I’m starving. Is everybody ready for lunch?”

 

They leave for lunch, heading to a nice little cafe nearby that Tony knows. The conversation is a little stilted, but it gets better as time goes by, until they’re all laughing at Tony’s jokes. When they part ways, Aunt May gives Peter a tight hug, hesitates, then opens her arms to Tony, giving him the mother of all awkward hugs, before she hurries away.

 

“Well, that was fun,” Tony says to Peter, once May is out of earshot. He reaches for the younger man’s hand, and links their fingers, strolling toward the Tower once more. “Incidentally, is it  _ really _ The Avengers Tower, if you and I aren’t Avengers? Because I built and paid for it. They can kiss my ass.”

 

Peter chuckles at that. “The city might revolt if you change the name now,” he points out, ever the voice of reason. “And you were charming and perfect over lunch. I’m going to need to show you how much that meant to me. When we get back to  _ our _ penthouse.”

 

“Will there be an outfit involved? Or do we need to make a stop and get you one first?” Tony asks cheerfully, squeezing Peter’s hand.

 

“I was thinking more of a  _ lack _ of outfit, but I’m game to stop someplace, so you can pick something out for me, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, in a lower voice, giving Tony’s hand a return squeeze. He has visions of being made to dress as a French Maid or something, but if that’s what Tony wants, that’s what Tony’ll get.

 

Because there isn’t anything Peter wouldn’t do for  _ his _ Tony Stark.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Graduation is the day after Tony’s birthday, and since Friday night is the better night for a party, they’re celebrating both of them at the same time. It’s a major bash, but Peter doesn’t care. He had Tony all to himself on his 53rd birthday, and the pair had celebrated until the early morning hours. Now, there’s about a thousand trays of food circulating and an open bar and a million people Peter’s never met. Most of his graduating class, from the looks of it, as well as people Tony knows. Some of them are even his friends. The two groups have something of a generational gap and don’t seem to mix much, except for the enterprising graduates looking to network and impress people who could help get them a leg up.

 

For all that Peter doesn’t care how many people are here or how big the celebration is, he’s thrilled to be here as Tony’s boyfriend. It lends magic to the night, and the younger man can’t stop smiling up at his boyfriend. Oh, he’s done the things he has to, a dance with MJ; after all, they’d been through a lot together of the last half a dozen years. It was a nice way to wrap things up with her, and a toast to his Aunt May for getting him here. That had been especially satisfying, seeing the tears in her eyes as all of the people there raised a glass in her honor.

 

“You want to dance?” Peter asks Tony, when they have a rare moment without people vying for the older man’s attention. “We haven’t gotten to dance yet, but if you need a food break instead, I can totally get you a plate.”

 

“How about a dance, then food,” Tony suggests, getting up from the chair he’s gotten to sit in for two point five seconds. He puts his hand on the small of Peter’s back, ushering him out to the dance floor. “FRIDAY, play something romantic,” Tony instructs, and the song abruptly changes from a fast dance tune to A Thousand Years by Christina Perri. Tony hesitates a moment, muttering, “The Twilight song, really, FRIDAY?”

 

“The kids love this song, Boss,” FRIDAY says cheerfully.

 

Meanwhile, everyone’s standing around staring at Tony for being a dick by changing the song. If he changes it again, they might riot.

 

“Fine. Alright, Lestat, let’s dance,” Tony says to Peter, tugging him close and resting his hands on his hips, swaying along to the song. It’s not that bad of a song, really.

 

“Wrong series. And, if either of us _was_ Lestat, it would be you. I’m more like...” He starts to say Louis, then grins up at him, “Claudia. I’m Claudia in this scenario.”

 

“That was dirty. You’re a dirty, filthy young man,” Tony scolds him, but he’s holding back a laugh, before he kisses that grin.

 

“You love it,” Peter says, his chest feeling like it might burst with how fucking good he feels. He knows there have been some stares and some dirty looks over the course of the night, but none of them came from the assembled Avengers, all of whom came into the city for the occasion. Maybe they’ll accept the pair of them eventually, after all.

 

“I really do,” Tony tells Peter, kissing his temple next, and just holding him close as they sway. The next song is also a slow one, one that the old people in the room can appreciate along with the younger crowd, because Shallow, from A Star is Born, had been a hit with moviegoers of all ages. “I really like this song. I like how they got Bradley Cooper to sing for it,” Tony murmurs, then pauses his swaying to clear his throat. “Hey. You see that thing behind you?”

 

“What thing, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, turning in his arms, looking for something that might have caught Tony’s attention. “I don’t see anything,” he says, with a furrowed brow. “Am I looking in the right spot?”

In the time it takes for Peter to turn around and babble, Tony’s getting the velvet box out of his pocket, dropping to a knee. There’s a few gasps that filter through the room, and Tony says casually, “My mistake. It’s behind you again,” he says, popping open the ring box. Inside, there’s a black and red tungsten ring, with a princess cut diamond encased in gold between the two black bands with the red between them.

 

“Oh, Jesus, Tony,” Peter gasps out, when he sees the thing behind him. He stands there in shock for half a second before he manages to speak, “You really want to do this? ‘Cause if you do, I’m saying yes.” He tears his eyes away from the ring to stare into Tony’s eyes, his own glossy enough that it’s hard not to cry.

 

“This is the part where you let me propose, then you say, ‘Yes,’” Tony coaches him, lifting his brows up at the younger man.

 

“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, his lips twitching with a smile that he tries to hold back. “Go ahead. I’m ready,” he clears his throat and schools his face smooth again.

 

“You can look happy though, if you want. The happiness was pretty perfect-” Tony begins, only to be cut off.

 

“Just propose, you fossil!” Steve cat calls from the crowd.

 

“That’s rich, coming from someone who was friends with my father,” Tony mutters, before putting on a winning smile as he stares up at Peter. “Okay, I’m going to make this short, because my knee is starting to hurt.”

 

“Boo!” Happy chimes in, at which point Peter can’t hold back his smile any longer.

 

“Haters,” Tony grumbles again, looking over his shoulder at the assembly of staring people, then grinning up at Peter when he sees how bright the younger man’s smile is. “I love you. You complete me. I had a speech and lost it before I could memorize it. I’ll make it up to you later. Marry me.”

 

“Yes!” Peter practically shouts his answer to the applause of everybody around them. Or, well, almost everybody. He cups Tony’s jaws in both of his hands and bends down to kiss him thoroughly. The kiss goes on a little too long, with a few calls of ‘get a room’ and ‘let him breathe’ punctuating the applause.

 

After that kiss, Tony clears his throat, and takes the ring out of the box, eyes hazy. “Let me have your hand. I want to put it on,” he murmurs, the onlookers still making their comments, but he can’t hear them anymore.

 

Peter holds his hand out for Tony to slide the ring onto his hand, then holds it up, so everybody can see it. “It’s even in Iron Man colors,” he points out, and everybody laughs at him. Then, he forgets about all the people watching them and pulls Tony back to his feet, kissing him hard, his arms going around the other man’s neck to hold him close.

 

By the time their lips part, Tony’s starting to get an erection, which he figures is a problem, given the crowd. “Okay, everybody out!” he calls out cheerfully, to which people laugh again. “No. Seriously. Get out. Am I going to have to pretend to be drunk and make a speech?” More nervous sounding laughter. Tony sighs, linking his hand with Peter’s.

 

“I don’t think they’re going to leave,” Tony mutters to Peter, giving him a softer kiss. “So we could leave for the penthouse, and leave them down here to party until they get tired, if you want.”

 

“I think that sounds like a great idea,” Peter says, his eyes focusing on something over Tony’s shoulder. “You think if we leave now, we can beat Pepper, or at least have this conversation in the elevator? She doesn’t look happy.”

 

“Shit. Yeah. Let’s go and see if we can at least make it to the elevator,” Tony mutters, ushering Peter along with a hand at the small of the younger man’s back. There’s some pauses where people stop them to shake hands, and Pepper just stares from the spot she’s picked to stand near the elevators. Waiting. Plotting. Swaying slightly like she’s had too much to drink.

 

They reach the elevators eventually, and Tony presses the button to go up, rocking a bit on his feet as he waits with one hand going into his pocket, the other holding Peter’s hand. He doesn’t look at Pepper. She’ll make him say something to her any second now, though, judging by the fury he can feel radiating off of her.

 

“Tony. Peter.” Pepper’s heels click against the floor as she walks over, hips swaying in an exaggerated motion that has to be because of the booze. She takes a drink from the glass in her hand, and puts on her best smile. “Congratulations.”

 

“Thanks, Pepper,” Peter says, hopeful for a moment that there won’t be any bloodshed. She doesn’t look away from Tony to acknowledge that he’d spoken, though, and Peter decides that he’s not really a part of this conversation

 

Tony hits the button for the elevator again, wondering who the fuck is using it for it to take this long. “Thanks, Pepper,” he echos Peter, before chancing a look at her. The doors to the elevator open, and he all but pulls Peter into it with him.

 

Pepper steps quickly onto the elevator with them and waits for the doors to close before she screeches. “How _could_ you?!” at Tony. Peter’s eyes get wide, then he lowers his head, studying his feet as she screams. “Did you think for _one_ second that proposing to a _child_ you’ve been dating for a three months at a party I was going to be at wouldn’t be humiliating?”

 

“Going to be honest. I didn’t give you the first thought,” Tony tells her evenly, tugging Peter so the younger man is behind him. He must think Pepper is about to get violent.

 

“That’s hardly a first,” Pepper seethes, blue eyes narrowing at him.

 

“Fair point,” Tony replies, and an awkward moment of silence later with the two of them staring each other down, the elevator doors open. “Would you like to come in, Pepper?” Tony asks her conversationally.

 

“Why him?” she asks, her voice hoarse. “I gave you _years_ . I did everything for you. I _was_ everything for you. And this kid’s somehow done something to deserve it after a few months? What does he do that I didn’t? Tell me.” There are tears in her eyes, but it’s impossible to tell if they’re tears of pain or fury. Maybe some mix of the two.

 

Tony steps past her, ushering Peter along as he does, and tucks the younger man behind the bar. “Want to play bartender, Peter?” he asks his new finance cheerfully. “Because I could use a drink right about now. You want a drink, Pepper?”

 

“Just answer the damn question, Tony,” Pepper snaps, staying near the elevator while Peter pours Tony a few fingers of bourbon from the crystal decanter and slides it across the bar to him. After a moment, he pours two more, nudging one in Pepper’s direction to show it’s hers, if she wants it, and taking one up for himself.

 

“What I’m wondering is…” Tony takes a swallow from his glass, leaning against the bar with an elbow, turning to face Pepper. “Why do you care, now? You didn’t care when we broke up. You spent years of your life being everything for me, but it wasn’t good enough to change me into the regular guy you wanted, was it?”

 

“You were supposed to _miss_ me. To come get me,” Pepper says, her voice breaking. “You were supposed to see that you _need_ me.” Maybe she did try to change him, but only in the ways she thought would help him. Make him happier.

 

Make him whole.

 

“Why did you want to play that kind of game with me, Pepper?” Tony asks her evenly. “You should have known I wouldn’t even notice you were playing a game with me, much less fall for it.” He knocks back the rest of his drink, then picks up hers, and brings it to her. “Was that just more hope that somehow I’d change?”

 

“Maybe it was,” she says, her voice suddenly steely. “I was a fool, but I was a fool that loved you, Tony. My mistake.” She turns around, and calls the elevator to come back to the penthouse level. It takes a minute to get there, which ruins her exit, but gives Tony a few seconds to speak.

 

Tony isn’t going to think up anything to say that won’t just make things worse, so he stays silent, drinking Pepper’s bourbon she hadn’t wanted. He stares as she steps into the elevator, then lifts his glass slightly to her when she turns to glare at him before the doors close. Once she’s on her way, Tony knocks back the rest of the drink, and heads back to the bar, frowning. “I’m sorry, Peter.” His voice is hoarse. He never apologizes.

 

Peter comes around the bar and wraps Tony up in a big hug. “That looked rough. I’m sorry you had to go through it, Tony,” he murmurs into his ear. He takes a deep breath, and presses a kiss to his jaw. “If you need to go after her, I won’t hold it against you,” he murmurs softly.

 

“I don’t have anything to say to her that she wants to hear,” Tony rumbles, nuzzling his face to Peter’s gently. “Fuck,” he says softly. “I wanted this night to be perfect. I didn’t want it to be like this. I guess I messed up by proposing at a party with my ex there.”

 

“It’s still perfect. Could be a little more perfect. MJ could burst through the door to yell at me,” Peter jokes. He feels a twinge that she might be upset somewhere, downstairs, but its not his fault he moved on faster than she did, after they broke up. “C’mon. Let’s go sit by the fire and celebrate,” he says quietly, kissing Tony, then leading him to the fireplace, which FRIDAY ignites for them as they approach.

 

“I got you a present. Well. Me a present,” Tony says after they kiss and he settles down in front of the fireplace on the couch. He tugs Peter into his lap, so the younger man straddles him. “It’s a present from you to me, really, but I bought it, and picked it out, so it’s the perfect present for both of us, in my opinion,” he continues, squeezing Peter’s hips. “You wanna see it?”

 

“Yeah. I wanna see,” Peter tells him in a husky voice, dipping his head for a slow kiss. He has a feeling this gift is going to involve lots of that, and probably mostly-naked time, too. “What did you get us?”

 

Tony likes that slow kiss, a sharp breath pulled in as his hands go to the younger man’s ass and squeeze. Then he’s grinning, eyes a little hazy. “Three words. French. Maid. Outfit.” He sets Peter down beside him on the couch, and goes to get the skimpy dress and accessories out of the closet. They’re hidden in a garment bag, which he unzips. “Do you think you can walk in stilettos? You seem graceful enough to pull it off, to me.”

 

“I think I could probably pull it off, if you’re not asking for any backflips at the same time. At least not yet,” Peter says, taking a look at the costume. The shoes are what stand out to him, mostly because they’re four inch platform stilettos. The kind a stripper might wear on a night she really needs good tips. The rest is barely there, and he doesn’t mind wearing it for the older man. “I’ll be right back,” he says, climbing to his feet and heading into their bathroom with the garment bag. Five minutes later, his suit is hung and he’s eyeing his reflection in one of the full length mirrors in the bathroom. He looks good, with the outfit hugging his waist and barely covering his ass. He walks the length of the bedroom a time or two, until he’s figured out how to balance in the damn things, then opens the door and calls out, “Mr. Stark? Would you like me to turn the bed down for you, sir?”

 

Tony turns on the couch, and stares at the vision that is Peter Parker in French Maid form. He’s rock hard in seconds, especially with the way Peter falls right into character, the older man giving his own cock a squeeze through his trousers. “Absolutely,” he says, getting up and walking over, so he can watch this turndown service. “You’re doing such a great job keeping everything clean here,” he adds, leaning against the doorway a little as he stares.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” he offers shy smile, then goes to the head of the bed and bends at the waist to pull the blankets back. He takes his time fluffing the thick pillows that don’t really need it, then straightens slowly and goes to the other side to repeat the gestures. “Such a big bed, for one man, Mr. Stark. Don’t you get _cold_ in there, all by yourself?” he asks innocently as he straightens and turns toward his fiance with his hands folded behind his back.

 

Damn. That’s such a nice, tight little ass. Tony openly stares at it when Peter bends at the waist, but he stays by the door. It’s funny. He’s had this conversation before with an actual maid. He fucked with her head for about three hours, pretending he didn’t know what she was getting at, before he sent her on her way. He might like getting laid, but he also likes being an asshole.

 

Now, what to do, what to do?

 

“Yeah, it gets pretty cold,” Tony admits, unbuttoning his suit jacket, and striding over to the closet, going about hanging it up. “Lonely, too. Nobody loves me.” He can’t help but make that sound like he’s holding back a laugh. He’s full of himself and knows that everyone loves him.

 

“That’s horrible!” Peter the Maid says, in a faux sympathetic tone as he looks modestly at his feet while Tony hangs his suit jacket. “Is there anything _I_ can do? Anything at all that might help you, sir?”

 

“I don’t know. Maybe dust a little? Dusting helps my mood,” Tony manages with a straight face. “That really high shelf on the bookcase, it totally needs dusting.” He grabs a robe, and then actually goes into the bathroom to change into it. He’s really not fucking around with this role playing.

 

“Yes, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, bobbing a curtsey as Tony goes into the other room to change. He takes up the feather duster that came with the outfit and starts on the second to top shelf, so he can be busy when Tony comes out of the bathroom, without needlessly dusting the same shelf for five minutes.

 

When Tony enters the room in his robe, Peter stretches for the top shelf of the bookshelf, raising up onto his toes, even if he doesn’t really need to, given the height of the shoes. He moves slowly, shaking his ass back and forth as he works, then lowers himself and turns around. “What else can I do for you, Mr. Stark?”

 

Tony stops in his tracks once he’s entered the room, and just stares at the perfect way Peter the Maid reaches for that top shelf. He crosses his arms, and leans against the wall near the door of the bathroom, and fixes his gaze on that swaying ass. When he turns, a heated gaze drags up Peter’s body, and Tony’s voice is thicker. “I think you missed a spot.”

 

“Oh! I beg your pardon, sir,” Peter spins around to correct his mistake, taking his time about dusting the shelves, and keeping up that slow sway of his hips as he works.

 

“You’re doing such a good job,” Tony rumbles, pushing off the wall and stalking closer, until his hands are ghosting over Peter’s hips. He doesn’t interrupt the dusting, but he does lean in to nip the back of the younger man’s neck, before rocking his hips forward, so his erection brushes that barely covered ass through the robe and what little clothing Peter has on.

 

“Mr. Stark!” Peter’s voice is strangled as he takes in that nip and the feel of Tony’s cock. It’s hard to stay in character, but he manages, “There must be some mistake. I’m not that kind of maid!” he cries out, turning quickly, graceful, even in the heels.

 

“Oh?” Tony lets his hands smooth a little more over Peter’s hips, before he lowers his hands to his own sides, and takes a deep breath. “My mistake. I got a little carried away, didn’t I?” He leans in, so his lips almost brush the younger man’s ear. “Can you forgive me? I’d hate to have to go to another anti-sexual harassment class.”

 

“It’s okay, Mr. Stark,” Peter rushes to assure him, shivering for the lips that almost graze his ear and the breath that tickles it. “I enjoyed it, it’s just that I have a fiance,” he holds out his hand, heavy with Tony’s ring.

 

Tony collects that hand to better inspect the ring, gasping quietly. “Why, those are Iron Man’s colors. Are you engaged to Iron Man?” he asks in mock surprise, before grinning up at the very tall, very heeled Peter.

 

“I am, sir!” Peter gushes a little bit, squeezing Tony’s hand softly as he holds it. “We’ve only just gotten engaged. Tonight, in fact, but I didn’t want to miss work to celebrate it,” he breathes out the words, like he’s admitting to a dark secret. “Iron Man was very angry about it, but I just _couldn’t_ take a night off. Not when you _need_ me.”

 

“I do need you. This place would fall apart without you,” Tony tells Peter solemnly, thumb brushing over the backs of Peter’s knuckles. “Tell me something. Does Iron Man ever take off the mask? I’ve never seen his face before.” This is so silly, and really fun. Tony’s enjoying himself.

 

“No, I never have. He said he’d reveal himself to me at our wedding,” Peter plays along, the fingers of the hand not held by Tony brushing lightly up and down his hip. “Do you know who he is?”

 

Tony watches that hand tease at Peter’s hip, before dark eyes drag their gaze upward to the younger man’s again. “Me? What makes you ask that?” he asks innocently, giving Peter’s hand a squeeze, then letting it go before he walks toward the bed. “I mean, maybe I know something. But it’s a secret. I’m not supposed to tell secrets.”

 

“You’re so rich and powerful, that I _knew_ you had to know something. Besides, you’re a genius... I’m just _sure_ you’ve figured it out by now.” Peter gushes in a sweet voice, letting his hands go back to being folded behind his waist.

 

“This flattery thing you’re doing? It’s working out great. Keep that up,” Tony tells the younger man, before taking off his robe and tossing it to a nearby chair. He’s naked underneath, and brazen about it, giving his cock a stroke before he climbs into bed under the covers. He loops an arm under his head, and watches the other man thoughtfully. “It really is cold in this big bed, all by myself. Maybe some enterprising, young maid might know how to help with that? In return, I could think really hard on who Iron Man might be.”

 

“I don’t know, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, like he’s not ready to pounce on the older man. “Do you think it would be alright with Iron Man? I mean, since I’m just trying to find out who he is, and all.” Peter walks slowly around the bed, one foot in front of the other, so that his hips sway invitingly, and raises the covers, as if considering whether or not he should get in.

 

“Something tells me he won’t mind,” Tony rumbles, giving his cock slow strokes now that he’s had that hip swaying show. Fuck, Peter’s great at being a hot little maid. He should have thought about getting him this outfit ages ago.

 

“Well, if you’re sure,” Peter eases his way into the bed, and slides over, so that his shoulder brushes Tony’s. “Tell me who Iron Man is. Please, sir? I need to know.”

 

“Fuck it. I’m Iron Man,” Tony says, because you know what? If he wasn’t Iron Man, he’d definitely be Iron Man now.

 

“You’re-” Peter’s eyes widen in play shock. “But, but... that’s impossible. _I’m_ Spider Maid!” Peter says, trying to hold back a laugh as he snuggles in against Tony’s side, his palm coming to rest over the arc reactor glowing in his chest.

 

“S-Spider Maid?!” Tony burst into a fit of laughter, so shocked by the revelation that he can’t fight back his reaction. “Oh God, _Spider Maid_?” He loves Peter. Peter makes him laugh. He’s just… so fucking happy right now.

 

Tony abandons jerking off to turn, and cover Peter’s body with his own, clearing his throat as he gazes down at the younger man. “Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m kind of a dick.” He lowers his head, nuzzling Peter’s jaw, even as his hips grind his cock against Peter’s little skirt.

 

“You’re _my_ dick,” Peter says fervently, cupping Tony’s jaws and pulling him up for a deep kiss. He wraps his legs, complete with the sky-high stilettos, around Tony’s hips, urging him on his tongue works against the other man’s.

 

Tony blindly reaches for the lube, then smears it on his cock as they kiss. He pulls the string of the thong aside, and pushes the wet head of his cock to the entrance of Peter’s ass, leaving the thong, skirt, and everything else on the younger man. Because it’s kinky, and Tony’s going to enjoy this outfit. “That’s right. _Your_ dick,” Tony rasps against Peter’s mouth, nudging his hips forward slowly.

 

“Fuck,” Peter whimpers out, as that thick cock slowly parts him. They’ve been doing this long enough that they usually skip all the preparation they used to do, and he’s decided he likes the burn of being stretched around Tony’s cock even more than he likes that anyway. It just feels perfect, like he’s being pulled apart, with the older man holding him together. “Fuck, Mr. Stark, you feel good.”

 

“So do you,” Tony says tightly, staring down into Peter’s eyes as he slowly, steadily rocks his hips forward to penetrate him deeper. “I’m going to marry you. You’re mine, and we’re getting married,” he breathes out, his voice sounding full of awe. It’s almost scary, to think of the huge life changes he’s made in such a short amount of time. But he knows what he wants, so why wait?

 

Peter palms one of Tony’s shoulders with each hand, then lets them run down the length of his arms to his hands, where he laces their fingers together. It feels different, with the weight of Tony’s ring heavy on his hand, but it feels better, somehow. “I can’t wait to marry you, Tony. Then, I’ll be the _other_ Mr. Stark, and every time somebody says my name, you’ll know I belong to you.”

 

“You want my last name?” Tony asks softly, surprise lighting dark eyes. It would be almost a given, if Peter were a woman, for him to take Tony’s name, but things aren’t nearly as certain with men. Tony lets his head bow to Peter’s shoulder, and he kisses it very gently, taking a deep breath as he tries to recover from this latest news without making a fool of himself.

 

“I want everything about you to be mine,” Peter breathes out into his ear. “Besides, Peter Stark has a nice ring to it don’t you think?” he asks. “Peter Benjamin Parker Stark. Peter P. Stark, professionally,” he just keeps talking into Tony’s ear, “And I want to be a Stark _soon_. None of this multi-year engagement thing. I’m all yours and I want the world to know it.” It’s hard to keep the words going while Tony rolls his hips into him, but he does, just needing to say them as much as he needs Tony to hear them.

 

“I’m definitely not making you sign a prenup now,” Tony says with a sniff, trying to get his shit together before the waterworks start. He keeps rolling his hips into the younger man, hissing quietly when his cock sinks fully into that tight ass. “I want you to be a Stark soon, too. In fact, right now would be good, except you’re getting a huge wedding, not one of those eloping in the night shindigs.”

 

“How long do you think it would take _the_ Tony Stark to put together a huge wedding for _the_ soon-to-be Peter Stark?” Peter asks him quietly, groaning out loud when Tony’s hips are flush with his. He starts to rock his hips in time with Tony’s rolling thrusts, each motion earning a new groan or a whimper.

 

Tony tries to think with his cock taking up a lot of his brain power. He starts going over the barriers that not even money can soothe, like other people’s schedules, and finally says quietly, “A month. A month should be enough notice for everyone to be there. We could do it somewhere upstate, away from the city where everything’s booked a year in advance.” He lifts his head heavily, and presses a soft kiss to whimpering lips.

 

“Sounds nice, Mr. Stark,” Peter groans out, starting to lose his mind from the increased friction of their hips meeting one another. He squeezes Tony’s hands and raises his head to take another desperate kiss from his lips. He writhes, faster as they go, and his breathing starts to hitch, until he’s panting and moaning Tony’s name out loud. “You sure you don’t wanna just go to Vegas now?”

 

“Anything you want,” Tony tells him, squeezing their joined hands, his voice thick with how good he feels right now. “We could take our jet there and have a ceremony tonight. We could have the big wedding later. It could be a whole thing,” he rumbles, pressing soft kisses along Peter’s face. His stomach keeps sliding against Peter’s cock, which is trapped in that slutty French maid thong. He thinks about freeing it to stroke it, but that would require letting his hands go, and a part of him wants to see if he can make Peter come from penetration alone.

 

“I’ve never been to Vegas, and I have a week until I start my actual job at Stark Industries,” Peter groans out, that friction feeling amazing on his cock. He can’t imagine being harder than he is right now, and he wonders if he might be able to come, just like this. He’s heard about men who can come this way, he’s just never done it. Yet.

 

He stops thinking about it, and starts just living in the pleasure that he feels from his coupling with Tony. It’s almost too much, the way it feels to have Tony inside him combined with how good it feels to have Tony talking about taking him to Vegas tonight. To marry him. _Fuck_. He groans again, this time with an edge of desperation as he clings to his fiance’s hands and speeds his hips just a bit more.

 

“Marry me tonight, Peter. Marry me in Vegas,” Tony coaxes him with thick words, swinging his hips into faster motion as the younger man speeds up his. “I want you to start your new job as Peter Stark. I want it on your fucking badge, so everyone can see it, see who you _belong_ to.” Tony kisses him hard then, tongue taking his mouth as thoroughly as he’s taking the younger man’s ass, the sound of his hips slapping into Peter’s ass echoing through the room.

 

“ _Yes_.” Peter surrenders in that moment. Surrenders his will to Tony’s, surrenders his body to the things Tony does to him. Surrenders his heart and his soul to the man he knows would die to protect them. His voice is hoarse, and his eyes go wide as the harder penetration leave him coming in thick ropes to fill those panties that came with the French maid’s costume. Tony pushes into his g-spot again and again, and it feels like he’ll never stop coming, never stop surrendering.

 

“You are so unbelievably perfect,” Tony whispers tightly in awe against Peter’s lips as he watches the younger man’s face as he fills those panties. He presses their joined hands harder into the pillow cushioning Peter’s head, and swings his hips just a little faster, drawing out that orgasm, until he’s coming as well. Thick ropes of his sperm fill his fiance’s ass, Tony taking in a sharp series of breaths through his nose as he empties his balls into the other man. Then he lets out a low groan of satisfaction, letting his weight settle heavily over the other man.

 

Peter presses kisses to Tony’s jaw and cheeks, then across his closed eyelids, until the only spot left to kiss is his lips. He sighs his contentment out across Tony’s mouth and shifts slightly to get more comfortable between Tony and the unbelievably soft mattress beneath him. “I love you, Tony. Let’s go get married.”

 

 

**A/N: Hi, there, Happy and Important Person! We hope you're enjoying Sparks Fly! As of right now, there's no end in sight for this story, and we're posting pretty quickly! It feels more like a series of one-shots than an actual story, and that's sort of the way we're writing it. We've written all of this in about four days' time (about 32k words!) and we can keep it coming, if we know there's interest in the story and the pairing. Reviews are like sparkles and rainbows and good tequila for writers, and will definitely help keep us going! Thank you for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

  
  


Peter is wearing a $3000 suit.

 

He stares at himself in the mirror, taking in the way the fabric drapes across his chest and, he supposes, his ass, too, when he turns to look. He’s owned this suit for almost a month, after Tony made him go and get fitted for it and a few other ‘essentials’ but this is the first time he’s worn it.

 

It feels strange to be wrapped up in the rent payment on a nice apartment, but he figures he should get used to it. He’s about to be married to one of the most powerful men in the world, and that means he’s probably outgrown his hoodies.

 

Married.

 

A slow smile spreads across Peter’s features as he double checks in the mirror to make sure he hadn’t missed a spot when he was shaving. He finds nothing, and his facial hair is as light as what grows on his body, so he’d be hard-pressed to find it, if it  _ was  _ there.

 

When he decides he’s ready, Peter leaves the bathroom of the suite that he knows Tony has already left. They’re taking separate cars to the little chapel they’d found, so that they at least get to miss one another before the ceremony and have that moment where they see each other from opposite ends of the aisle, which Peter figures he’ll be walking up, since they can’t both start at the altar. That’s fine. He’s looking forward to it, actually.

 

He grabs his wallet, making sure his ID is in there, and notices the $1000 Tony must have slipped into it on his way out. He smiles at the money, and tries to decide what charity he’ll be giving it to, because he’s  _ not _ buying Tony’s ring with money he didn’t earn himself. And he’s got enough for something nice, because all of his internships have been paid, and he’s been really frugal with the money he’s made.

 

He feels like a different man altogether when he steps into the car that is waiting for him, and maybe that’s what’s different. He feels like a  _ man _ . Not a boy or a guy or a student. An actual, honest-to-god man.

 

A quick stop at the jewelry store he found online later, he has a heavy steel ring in a box that he can’t stop flipping open and looking at. Much the way his engagement ring is done in Tony’s Iron Man colors, he’d found a silver ring with a red and blue band down the middle for his own Spider Man colors. It’s sort of fitting, he thinks, that their alter egos be as much a part of their union as their true identities. At least he hopes so.

 

When he arrives at the chapel, he has a rush of butterflies, something that almost feels like danger in the pit of his stomach. He fights the urge to look around, and fixes his eyes on the door to the chapel. This is it. It’s time.

 

When he enters the little vestibule, he’s immediately ushered to the main chapel, which, through the magic of Tony Stark, has been decorated to look like a beautiful country garden, instead of a tawdry Vegas wedding chapel. There’s a real Justice of the Peace, instead of an Elvis impersonator waiting for them, and then he stops noticing details, because his eyes lock to Tony’s and there’s no more air in the room.

 

Here comes Tony’s life.

 

Tony stares at Peter with a soft gaze, his hands folded behind his back, watching this love of his life. For so many years, it had seemed like that love was going to be Pepper. She had made herself indispensable to him, after all. But what he felt for her doesn’t compare to how he feels for this young man. Peter’s like a younger, smarter  _ him _ , and God knows Tony’s crazy about himself, so what’s not to love about Peter?

 

Those thoughts probably aren’t very romantic.

 

Tony isn’t the most romantic of guys.

 

But he’s going to fake it, because it’s his wedding day, his gaze not leaving Peter’s as the music starts, and the young man starts down the aisle. Then, he’s just smiling so big, and racing down the aisle, making Tony laugh. Tony wraps the younger man in a big hug when he reaches him, because Peter all but leaps into his arms.

 

Could anything be more perfect than that?

 

“I missed you,” Peter murmurs, sliding his nose up Tony’s, blissfully unaware of how romantic Tony is  _ not _ . He tears his gaze away from Tony’s to look sheepishly to the Justice of the Peace. “Sorry. I got a little carried away.”

 

The Justice of the Peace gives him an indulgent smile and assures him that he’s allowed to be a romantic on his wedding day before asking if they’re ready to begin.

 

Peter turns questioning eyes to Tony, because he was ready to begin yesterday, when they talked about getting married right away. Before the flight time and the graduation and the party and the alcohol and the altercation with Pepper had them drooping so badly they decided to do it tonight, instead.

 

“Definitely,” Tony murmurs, pressing a kiss to Peter’s temple, before smoothing the other man’s suit a little. It had gotten a bit wrinkled from the big hug they’d shared. A little straightening later, and Tony’s taking the younger man’s hands into his, adding, “Ready when you are, Padre.”

 

The Justice of the Peace begins reading through the ceremony, offering insight, instead of prayers, and leading them through the vows. Then, they’ve sworn to love and protect one another for better or worse, in sickness and health, for richer or poorer, til death do they part.

 

The ‘protect’ part of that strikes a chord with Peter, who’s been protecting an entire city since he was a kid. Now, he’s taken on Tony’s life to protect with his own, and it feels more important than anything else ever has. He swallows heavily before he says, “I do,” and squeezes Tony’s hands.

 

Tony’s heart beats faster when Peter says those two little words. Then it’s his turn, the Justice of Peace going through the vows with him, until Tony’s says hoarsely, “I do.” The sickness and death strikes Tony the most, out of all of them. He knows he’ll be the one to get sick. He’ll be the one to die. He’s going to hurt this young man deeply, some day, because he’s an old man.

 

It has him swallowing hard, the Justice of the Peace prompting them to exchange rings. Tony slides the ring that served as Peter’s engagement ring onto the younger man’s hand, and then Peter slides the ring he hasn’t seen yet onto Tony’s hand. Tony stares at it, then sniffs hard, because of course he’d get him a Spider Man ring. Because he got him an Iron Man ring.

 

Don’t lose your shit, Tony.

 

A few more words are said, which Tony doesn’t hear, and the Justice of the Peace declares them married. They may kiss.

 

Tony darts forward, pulling Peter close by the hands in the same motion, and then wraps his arms tightly around the younger man, kissing him deeply, like he’s scared to death and madly in love at the same time. It’s insanity in that kiss, until the taste of his husband’s mouth soothes him into a slower, deep exchange. When his head lifts, he feels so much better.

 

Tony feels peace, and it’s reflected in eyes that stare into his husband’s. “Hello, Mr. Stark,” he rumbles with a slow grin.”

 

“Hello, Mr Stark,” Peter says in an awe-tinted voice. “I’m a Mr. Stark, too, now.” He grins so broadly that there’s some worry his cheeks might actually split. “It’ll be on my name badge, when  start at Stark Industries next week. It’ll be on my driver’s license. Well, if I had one, it would. Oh! I’ll need a new passport!” Peter babbles on about his new name while busy hands caress the ring he’d put on his new husband’s hand.

 

“Wait- You don’t have a driver’s license?” Tony asks incredulously, before shaking his head and turning to the Justice of the Peace. “Sorry, we’ve got to sign something now, right?” Like Tony really knows anything. Even as old as he is, he’s never been married before. As he talks, one of his hands still holds Peter’s.

 

The Justice of the Peace nods and asks them for the marriage license, showing them where they’ll need to sign, where a witness will need to sign, and where he will sign lastly. One of the owners of the chapel steps forward to act as their witness, then disappears back into the background, when he’s no longer needed. He advises them to file the paperwork at the courthouse in a timely manner, or to mail it in, and shakes both of their hands before he leaves.

 

“So. It’s just the Misters Stark, and Las Vegas. What do you want to do first? Gamble? I’ve never been to a casino,” Peter says, a little bit nervous, because that butterfly feeling hasn’t quite disappeared yet.

 

“You’ve never been to a casino? That’s perfect. I get to take so many of your virginities,” Tony says like the dirty old man he is, ushering Peter out of the building with a hand at the small of his back. There’s a limousine waiting for them, and Tony opens the door for Peter to get in first, then slides in beside him. He cups the younger man’s face, and kisses him again, before grinning and saying to the driver, “We’d like to go to a casino. You got a favorite?”

 

The driver starts talking about a little casino hotel on Fremont that he loves, so Tony looks at Peter and ask, “Want to go there? It’ll be less crowded. We can always go to The Strip after.”

 

“I’m pretty excited to go to The D on my wedding night,” Peter quips, looking out the window at the passing nightlife. There’s so much going on in Las Vegas that it reminds him a little of New York. Like maybe Vegas is the Big Apple’s dirty little sister. “And, I got to have one of your firsts, too. The best one, the way I see it,” he says, turning his head to take a pointed look at Tony’s ring.

 

“I’m trying to figure out how I dodged getting married all these years, then you came along and pulled a combo breaker,” Tony teases him, holding up his ringed hand. “Also, say The D again, I like how that sounded with you saying it,” he adds with a quiet laugh. He leans in for another kiss, and just generally fawns over the younger man as they ride along.

 

Peter enjoys the attention and returns it, with the pair kissing and touching all the way to the casino. He lets it soothe him from the sense of unease that just keeps growing in the pit of his stomach. Has he made a mistake, rushing off to get married so soon? Naw, that can’t be it. He’s as happy as he’s ever been. Happier. So what is it that’s bugging him?

 

When they get there, Tony opens his wallet to buy a couple thousand dollars’ worth of chips for them to play with at the tables, and leads the way to the blackjack table first. He sets his stacks of chips in front of him and the dealer deals him in, while Tony explains the rules to Peter over the course of a few hands, then lets Peter take the wheel.

 

Peter loses his first few hands, before his brain catches up to him and he starts to figure the game out. Then, he’s winning more than he’s losing, and some excitement starts to build up around their table. It’s after he wins on a blackjack, that the cheering around the table is interrupted by a loud scream from near the door.

 

Tony and Peter share a look and bolt for the door, their chips forgotten as they go to find out why more and more people are starting to yell. When they get outside, they find chaos in the form of people running to and fro and cars being flipped around by a man wearing animal pelts and screaming, as if in pain.

 

All at once, the pain seems to overcome him, and he falls to his knees screaming in agony.

 

Then, just as suddenly, there is silence, until he raises his head and begins to laugh a maniacal laugh.

 

“Is it just me, or does that sound like a bad thing?” Peter asks, watching as the man stands up and starts  _ throwing _ cars, hitting the people running away from him.

 

“Hey! Wild Kingdom!” Tony yells with a whistle to get the guy’s attention. As he does, he’s pressing the button to his bracelet that summons his suit. He’s got it in the penthouse at the Bellagio, so it’s going to take a few seconds to get to him. Maybe even a minute, given that they’re not on The Strip. But Tony can play distraction while he waits, if that means fewer people die via flying cars.

 

The man stops throwing cars at random passersby and turns to Tony with a calculating glare. He still has a car by the bumper, ready to toss, but at least he’s not throwing them at random passersby now. “Who are you?” the man growls out in a Russian accent, the veins in his arms looking like they might burst from the tension of holding the car’s rear end a few inches off the ground. He doesn’t seem to notice, with all of his attention focused, instead, on the man who called out to him.

 

Tony throws his arms out wide, and as he does, the pieces of his suit begin to assemble around him. “I’m Iron Man,” he says, because, well, he likes saying it. The helmet forms around his head last, and the mask snaps into place, Tony murmuring to FRIDAY, “Can you get me a reading on this guy? So far I know he can throw cars, and talk. Talking is a plus.”

 

“I’m not reading any tech, Boss,” she chirps at him, as if this isn’t a terrible time for some sort of big bad to rear his ugly head. “But, his vitals are through the roof. His heart rate is 125 beats per minutes and his temperature is over 100 degrees Fahrenheit.”

 

Not for the first time, Peter wishes his suit could do that cool summoning thing that Tony’s does. Even without it, though, he stands shoulder to shoulder with his husband, because while the suit is designed to augment his natural capabilities, he’s still capable of fighting without it. In fact, he’d done it for  _ months _ before Tony and his super suit came along.

 

The tall man laughs again, and the sound makes the fine hairs stand up on the back of Peter’s neck. “I didn’t expect to meet you so soon, Iron Man, but now that you’re here, I don’t see any reason we can’t play. My name is Sergei Kravinoff. My enemies call me Kraven.”

 

Tony looks over at the wild Peter who hasn’t left his side. “Peter. Aren’t you forgetting something? You know, the part where you  _ aren’t _ standing here ready to tango with this creep?” Tony asks. For some reason, seeing him ready to fight out of his suit really throws Tony off. The kid might get hurt or something.

 

“I’m not forgetting anything,” Peter growls out, his attention hard on the Russian before them. Before Tony can respond, the Russian tosses the car at them, like a kid skipping a stone on a pond and he leaps high above it, slinging a web at Kraven. It wraps around his arm, and Peter gives it a hard pull, bringing him close enough that he won’t be throwing cars at them.

 

While Peter grabs Wild Kingdom with his webbing, Tony darts into the air as well, flying to keep the car from hitting him. “That wasn’t very nice. I thought we were having a conversation,” Tony tells the Russian as he lands back on his feet before the man. “But maybe you’re more into action, and I can dig it,” he says, pressing a button. Small missiles pop up out of the shoulders of his suit in slots, ready to fire. “I mean, unless you’ve changed your mind…”

 

Kraven looks gleeful when Iron Man’s suit reveals those missiles. He flexes his arm, and Peter’s webbing pops, disposed of like so much silly string. Then he begins to walk toward Tony, reaching for a shield on his back that glows red when he hits a button. “I have not changed my mind, Iron Man. Let us dance.”

 

“Sorry, pal, his dance card is full,” Peter grunts out slinging a web to a nearby building and using it to swing a hard kick into the Russian’s jaw. Kraven staggers back a step from the impact, which should have broken a normal human’s jaw, but it’s obvious that this isn’t a normal human. Not after he popped that webbing like cotton candy.

 

Tony fires one of the missiles at the Russian, who throws up his shield, almost lazily, deflecting it into a tree, which cracks and begins to fall. Spiderman uses a web to swoop in and save a woman standing beneath it, in the moment before it falls on her. She’s in shock when he scoops her up and settles her on her feet a few yards away. She collapses in the next moment, sobbing, but there’s not much he can do for her, except to try and stop Kraven from causing any more damage. 

 

Tony takes advantage of Peter being out of the way to fire one of his palm canons at Wild Kingdom, using it at a higher setting then he might have, if he hadn’t already shrugged off a missile. It knocks the man down, and before Tony can react, Peter’s on top of him. The two roll around, trading blows, until the Russian slumps back, knocked senseless. 

 

Peter falls back at the same time, his chest heaving. He’s sure there’s probably a cracked rib, but it had been worth it to subdue the Russian prick without the high powered weapons that were as likely to harm a bystander as not. And there are lots of them, most of them standing around with their smartphones out, recording the whole thing.

 

All Tony can see is Peter lying there with his chest heaving, trying to catch his breath. He runs over to the other man and kneels down, mask coming off so Peter can see his face as he talks. “Peter. Are you alright? FRIDAY, scan Peter,” he instructs the AI, even before Peter can answer him.   
  
“Two cracked ribs, Boss, but they’re not broken, so his lungs are fine,” FRIDAY says, her tone less than its usual cheerful chirp.   
  


“So, I guess the cat’s out of the bag, huh?” he laments, ignoring Tony’s question, since FRIDAY answered it for him. He tips his head back enough that his eyes can go to the gathered masses with their cell phone out and recording. “Sorry, Tony.”

 

“People know I’m Iron Man, and nobody does anything different except bother me for autographs at lunch,” Tony grunts, shooting a glare in the direction of a flashing camera. He doesn’t like that they’re filming his husband hurt. People can be fucking calloused, really.

 

With that thought, he scoops Peter up, and gets high in the air, intending on taking him somewhere safe. Then, he’ll take care of Kraven.

 

Except, when he gets back some thirty seconds later, the man is gone. Tony groans, and flies back to the bench he left Peter on, moving to sit beside him. “So, the good news is that hardly anyone died. The bad news is that I totally lost Wild Kingdom.”

 

“Fuck. I didn’t do so great for my coming out, did I?” Peter asks. “People are going to figure out that I’m just a kid from Queens and nobody’s even going to think twice about Spider Man. I’ll have to tie bags of stolen money around my neck, just to get the bad guys to play with me.”

 

Tony coughs hard, holding back a laugh as best he can, because that was just funny. He gets it under control, and gives Peter a gentle hug, his suit still on, so he’s extra careful. Especially because of those two cracked ribs. “We could fly back to the hotel. People will stare and forget all about the fight because they’ll see how cute we are, with me carrying you back? Maybe?” Tony’s trying to make him feel better, but he’s not sure if it’s working.

 

“I’m going less for cute than for badass. Do you mind walking back with me, instead?” Peter asks hopefully. “Or, I could take a cab and you could fly back. Or, I don’t know. Something where I don’t get carried away like a damsel in distress?”

 

“Sorry, that was a dumb idea, wasn’t it?” Tony says apologetically. Woo. Apology and saying something he said was dumb in one sentence? Peter better memorize it. “Let’s get a cab. I don’t want to leave you alone. I, you know, Iike being around you. Earlier, missing you was hard.”

 

“So  _ that’s _ why you married me,” Peter notes, reaching up to cup Tony’s jaw with his ringed hand. “It was hard for me, too. Let’s just not do it any more than we have to, okay?” He climbs to his feet with a wince from his ribs twinging, and starts off toward their hotel. Best he can figure, they’re more likely to find a cab where there’s slightly less destruction.

 

Twenty minutes later, they’re opening the door to the Bellagio’s penthouse suite and heading inside. Peter stops for a towel and a handful of ice from the bar, then presses it to his ribs with a hiss. “This is going to feel better once the cold actually makes its way through the towel to my skin,” he points out, like he’s convincing himself of that fact.

 

“Let’s get these clothes off. That’ll help, too,” Tony says quietly, dismantling his Iron Man suit so it drops to the floor in pieces. That leaves him in the suit he was married in. He steps closer, and starts undressing Peter, kissing him softly as he does. “I’m so grateful you’re alive,” he breathes out against the younger man’s mouth. “What if I’d lost you?”

 

“Maybe Cap wasn’t completely full of shit after all, huh?” Peter asks, lowering his head, so that he can press his forehead against Tony’s. “I’m pretty good at what I do, though, so I don’t think you’re gonna lose me any time soon.” He wasn’t very good at what he did today, though. He was fighting angry, because the Russian was trying to get to Tony.

 

“Steve can kiss my ass. I’m having a perfectly normal reaction here,” Tony grumbles, stripping Peter bare as carefully as he can. He stares at the younger man’s chest, the ribs bruised all to hell and back, so no wonder there’s some cracks. “Fuck…” he breathes out as he stares at the damage done. “I’m so going to kill that guy.”

 

“That bad, huh?” Peter asks, without twisting to try and look at himself. He sees everything he needs to know in Tony’s expression. “They’ll heal pretty quick, though. Then, we’ll go find him together.”

 

“Good plan. See? I can work well with you. We just… got caught off guard, is all. The bad guys really should pay attention to the scheduling suggestions I put out there,” Tony grumbles, making joke. Not a very good one, but he’s trying. “Is the ice helping yet?” he asks, ushering him gently toward the bedroom in the suite, and then the bed.

 

“Not enough to be worth holding it there, when there are other things I’d rather be using my hands for,” Peter says in a husky voice, looking meaningfully at the bed. He turns to face Tony, and starts working at the buttons of his suit.

 

"Oh. I like it when you do that voice," Tony rumbles, helping with his buttons. He starts peeling his clothing off, tossing the garments into a nearby chair. "You sure you can handle this right now?"

 

"It's our wedding night. Nothing short of a full-on coma would stop me from this right now," Peter growls out, his hand pressing to Tony's stomach, then sliding into his pants, past his belt, so he can wrap his hand around his cock, palming the length of it before he begins to stroke.

 

Tony's cock gets hard fast under the expert stroking Peter gives it. He goes about getting out of his trousers and boxers, pulling off his shoes and socks himself so Peter doesn't have to strain his ribs with bending. Then he's kissing his husband slowly, gripping Peter's thick cock and jerking it at the same pace his is stroked.

 

Groaning deeply, Peter takes the step back to the soft bed and settles on the edge of the mattress before sliding back to the center and opening his arms invitingly. "C'mere, husband," he coaxes Tony, his cock hard against his abdominals. Brown eyes are soft as they take in the man standing before him, looking his fill at the flawless physique and the handsome face of his husband.

 

"Hello, Mr. Stark," Tony rumbles, moving onto the bed over the younger man, pressing him down against the mattress. Fingers push into his hair, and he kisses him hard, while he starts jerking Peter's cock again, this time nice and slow. "You make me so happy," he breathes out in a hushed tone against his mouth.

 

"Every time you call me Mr. Stark, it messes with my pulse," Peter says, as his heart kicks into overdrive. "I can't believe it's real. I can't believe I have you," he murmurs, kissing him again and taking his time with tasting the other man's mouth. He pushes slightly, so that Tony's on his back and Peter lands astride him, looking down into his eyes. There's a sharp pain when he moves like that, and he hisses a little, but it dies down quickly enough for him to catch his breath.

 

“Hey. Please be careful,” Tony says, his voice hoarse with concern, his hands going to Peter’s hips and squeezing them slowly. He watches as the younger man catches his breath, a calloused hand smoothing up and down his chest and stomach, wishing he could somehow take the pain away. He sits up on a hand after a moment, and presses a kiss to the corner of Peter’s jaw, a hand pushing into his hair to smooth the strands slowly, gently.

 

Peter’s eyes bat shut when Tony starts to smooth his hair and he turns his head to catch the man’s lips, giving him a long, slow kiss. His hands move to Tony’s cock, pressed against his abs, and begin to stroke him slowly, using his hands and his tongue to try and drive his husband crazy.

 

Normally, that would work, but Tony’s not letting something go. “Peter. You’re hurt. I can’t just… I can’t. Even though I want to,” he tries to explain, his cock responding to the slow strokes despite his words. “I don’t want to disappoint you, but at the same time, I don’t think I could live with myself if I hurt you. You hissed, just a few seconds ago, because you were in pain. And now I can’t think, I can’t see straight.” His voice is thick with emotion.

 

Maybe Steve wasn’t so far off base after all.

 

“Oh.” Peter’s hands stop and release Tony’s cock, coming to rest on his knees, instead, because his husband is telling him  _ no _ , and no means no. “Oh,” he repeats dumbly, sliding off him and to the side, being careful not to show it when he jostles those ribs again. “Okay, Mr. Stark. We can just sleep, if you want.” Mr. Stark this time, not because it’s fun and sexy, but because he feels like a kid again, and he defaults down to calling him that, when he’s uncertain.

 

Tony sits up in bed, so he’s level with the younger man, but he’s not looking at him, and his jaw is tight. A muscle jumps in that jaw from him clenching his teeth so hard, anger starting to radiate off of him. Because no one can hate Tony Stark more than Tony Stark.

 

“Two things. You need ice, and you need pain killers,” Tony says after a moment, keeping his voice mostly level. “Once I get you those, then we can sleep, if you want.” With that, he’s moving out of the bed, and going about getting another towel and ice for his husband.

 

Great. Now Tony’s mad at him. On their wedding night. He watches the other man leave the room, and hears him moving about the suite to get an ice pack, then decides to take advantage of Tony not being there to get comfortable, so he doesn’t remind him that he’s injured again. He tugs the covers up high enough to cover the bruise and waits for him to return, feeling like he’s on pins and needles.

 

Tony pads back into the room, ice pack in hand, along with some pain killers and water. “Here,” he says, offering Peter the pain killers first. He has a straw in the cup of water, so Peter doesn’t have to sit up. Once Peter’s had the medicine, Tony takes up one of his hands, and gives him the ice pack, bowing to press a kiss to his knuckles. “Just hold that against your ribs for me, okay?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Peter says meekly, taking the ice pack and pulling it under the covers to press it to his ribs, rather than baring them and reminding Tony even more of the damage he’d taken. He can’t quite help a soft grunt when he presses it to his ribs, but he keeps his face smooth enough that he thinks maybe it wasn’t that noticeable.

 

Tony moves around the bed, and climbs in on the other side, propping up on an elbow to watch the younger man stare up at the ceiling. He reaches carefully, and cards his fingers through the younger man’s hair, petting the strands. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rough with emotion.

 

Tipping his head into the attention, Peter takes a deep breath before he replies. “What do you have to be sorry for? I’m the one who got hurt and ruined everything. I probably shouldn’t have tried to take Kraven head on, when I saw how strong he was. I just wasn’t thinking.” Plus, he’s willing to bet he’s gone viral by now, and it’s just a matter of time before people have a name to go with the face.

 

"I'm sorry I can't perform on our wedding night. I'm sorry I let you get hurt. I'm sorry I let Kraven get away. I'm sorry for a lot right now, and angry at myself," Tony explains, steadily combing fingers through the younger man's hair. He bends and kisses Peter's lips ever so softly.

 

“Are you sorry for marrying me tonight?” Peter asks quietly, his lips moving against Tony’s and his eyes closing against the tiny bit of fear he has that the man will say yes.

 

"No. I'm not sorry for marrying you tonight, Peter Stark. That's something I got right," Tony tells him quietly.

 

Relief makes Peter smile, and he opens his eyes to stare into Tony’s. “Then the rest is just details, right? We can make everything else up later. Although,” an idea occurs to him and he decides to spill it, just to see what Tony thinks about it. “Maybe we should hold off on the sex thing until the big wedding. That way I get the clothes-ripping experience next time around,” he teases.

 

Peter may be teasing him, but that's not what Tony hears. He hears he's not doing well in bed, to the point that Peter wants to remind him of what he's missing so he'll do better later. He gets quiet, thinking about that, and says slowly, "Yeah, good point. And it'll give your ribs time to heal more."

 

“I didn’t expect you to actually agree to that. I guess now, you’ll get the joy of listening to me beg you for sex,” Peter grins at him, unaware of Tony’s thoughts. “‘Cause there’s no way I can go that long without having you,” he nuzzles the older man, then presses a soft kiss to his lips. “I’d beg now, except I respect that ‘no’ you gave me earlier too much to push.”

 

Well, this emotional rollercoaster is super fun. Tony kisses Peter back, eyes shutting as relief floods him. "I do like hearing you beg," he admits.

 

“Well, you have it to look forward to,” Peter assures him. “Those painkillers are really good. I barely feel anything right now,” he tells Tony with a little relief in his voice and a smile that’s just starting to get hazy. Tony must have given him the good stuff.

 

"Hold still," Tony tells him, pressing soft kisses to his face. As he does, he wraps calloused fingers around Peter's cock, and begins stroking it slowly. "Going to tell you a secret," he murmurs, kissing his ear. "That French maid outfit really does it for me. If you beg while wearing that, I'll be helpless."

 

A whimper and then a soft sigh part Peter’s lips when Tony surprises him by stroking his cock. He wants to roll his hips into the other man’s hand, but Tony said for him to hold still, so that’s what he’s doing. “Fuck, Tony,” he whines out after a few minutes of being stroked. “I want to touch you, too. Please, can I?”

 

Tony guides Peter's nearest hand to his aching cock, before he kisses him hard, and starts jerking him faster. His ear is breathed into, the older man starting to fuck his hand. "You are so fucking beautiful, Peter Stark. And you are mine."

 

“You called me Peter Stark again. And it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt,” Peter breaths out, his heart kicking up a notch. He starts to stroke Tony’s cock faster, since the older man seems to be looking for more friction, and he needs to give him everything he wants. Whatever he wants.

 

"Peter Stark," Tony repeats himself, needing to make Peter feel like that again, as much as he needs to say it for his own pleasure. "Maybe, if I'm very gentle, I could make love to you, and not hurt you," he breathes out, reaching out for the lube on the nightstand. He moves between Peter's thighs, and starts smearing the lube all over his own cock. "I love you so much, Peter Stark."

 

“I love you, too, Tony,” Peter breathes out asTony brings his cock to bear against his ass. “I have everything I want right now. I have _ everything _ .” His hand slide along Tony’s shoulders and down his chest, then back up into his hair before he pulls him down for a long, slow kiss. With the painkillers in his system, he barely feels a twinge from his ribs, but he feels how good it feels to have his husband nudge his way inside him.  _ Husband _ . Has there ever been a sweeter, sexier word?

 

“Good, because you deserve  _ everything _ ,” Tony says thickly, his cock slowly sinking inside his husband. It takes him a couple of thrusts, but then his hips are flush with Peter’s ass, and he’s kissing him again. A hand fists in Peter’s hair, that elbow sinking into the pillow, while his other hand caresses the younger man’s cheek. “Tell me,” he mutters against Peter’s mouth after their kiss, a slow grin forming. “Are you very high right now?”

 

“As a fucking kite, and you’re ninety-five percent of that,” Peter grins back, because he  _ is _ a little high. Nothing hurts right now, even with some of Tony’s weight on him. That’s the pill. The part where everything feels amazing? That’s all Tony. Peter reaches for Tony’s hips, gripping them as the older man thrusts into him, squeezing and spreading his hands to feel the muscles of his ass as they bunch and pull, working against him.

 

“I like hearing the effect I have on you,” Tony rumbles, having to make the mental effort to not thrust harder. Instead, he reaches between them, and goes back to jerking Peter’s cock along with the gentle motions of his thrusts inside the younger man. It’s probably the slowest love making Tony’s ever managed, but then again, he’s highly motivated to not hurt his husband. The minutes tick by too slow and all too fast at the same time, until Tony’s kissing him desperately, trying to hold off on coming a few more seconds as his hand speeds up on Peter’s cock.

 

Peter, too, fights for those last few seconds of perfection, but the faster strokes are his undoing, and his eyes open wide, locked to Tony’s as he succumbs to his orgasm. “I love you, Tony,” he breathes out, as his pupils dilate and he begins to come.

 

“I love you, Peter Stark,” Tony breathes out roughly, then grits his teeth, hips gently bucking into the younger man’s ass as he fills it with his seed. He only takes a moment to let himself try to recover, then he’s pulling out carefully, so he can lie down beside the younger man, facing him. He reaches over him for a towel he’s left by the bed, and goes about cleaning Peter up, before he settles in, pulling the covers up over them.

 

“Are you comfortable? Are you happy?” Tony asks quietly, finding he sincerely cares about the answers to both of those questions. As Peter mumbles his happiness and snuggles against him, Tony marvels over how far he’s come to care about something or someone even more than he cares about himself. Maybe he’s growing as a person. Even this late in life, maybe he can change.

 

Maybe he’ll even be a decent man, someday, before he leaves Peter alone to this world.

  
  


 

 

 

**A/N: Thank you to everybody who's left a comment so far! They help keep us going and make our day! Let us know what you like and what you'd like to see. Your idea may make it into the story!**


	6. Chapter 6

 

The first two weeks of Peter’s married life are so full that he falls into bed exhausted every night at the end of the day. He and Tony returned from Las Vegas to New York the day after the wedding, and started trying to dig up information on Kraven, without involving the Avengers.

 

Added to that, officially moving into their penthouse had taken some work, not to mention changing his name and going through orientation for his new position with Stark Industries. It all seems a little silly to Peter, when he figures he could just do this stuff for free, with Tony’s bank account behind him and not have to deal with the endless orientation videos and trainings to be brought up to speed for HR.

Then, the same day he was set to officially start at Stark Industries, Nat had showed up with her own version of a wedding gift... A thick file on Kraven the Hunter. 

 

“He’s been working as a mercenary for ages,” she tells them, as she hands over a drive with all the information on it. “He’s the go-to guy, if you want to find somebody who doesn’t want to be found. If you want that person dead, at the end of the finding, at least. Were you guys going to tell the team about your Vegas Vacation? Because finding out about it from viral videos kind of sucked,” she says with a pointed look at Tony’s new ring.

 

“I didn’t realize we needed to run our vacations by the team that doesn’t want us on it,” Tony says, almost giving her the finger. He wants to. He thinks about it. But she did just hand him a wedding present. So instead he holds up his ringed hand with a smile. “Look. Spider Man colors. Aren’t we romantic? Peter, show her your ring, too. We need to do a side by side for this rainbow barfing moment.”

 

Natasha rolls her eyes as Peter moves to hold his ring up, too, though he’s busy pulling up the information on Kraven, so that it projects on the holographic workbench. “We never said we didn’t want you on the team, Tony. That was your idea. But, we’re still friends, aren’t we?” her voice gets softer at the end. “It would have been nice to know you eloped from something besides the newspapers.”

 

“No, you said because I was on the team, Peter couldn’t be on the team, so I  _ heard _ you must not want either of us on the team,” Tony snaps, not falling for that softer voice. They’re discussing his precious, after all. Someone that the team said had to take a backseat to him, and that just  _ pisses him off _ . “I still haven’t heard an apology. And I don’t see anyone begging Peter to be on the team. Are we even friends?”

 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter calls over from the workbench, where he’d been sorting through the files, instead of listening to the other two bicker. “Uh, you should really see this,” he says, opening a cctv file of Kraven, before the two of them arrived on the scene. In it, Kraven appears fairly normal, before he takes a drink of something out of a flask he pulled from one of the hides we wears. Once he takes a drink, a change ripples over the Russian’s cunning face, making him appear animalian for a moment, before he started causing the destruction that eventually brings them running out of the casino.

 

“He still calls you  _ Mr. Stark _ ?” Natasha asks, incredulous, as Tony makes his way closer to watch the video.

 

“Don’t kink shame me,” Tony says in a distracted tone, pressing a kiss to Peter’s hair and putting a hand on the younger man’s shoulder as he watches the video. “Now that’s interesting…” he says about the flask Kraven drinks from. “What’s in the flask?”

 

“Herbs and stuff smuggled from Africa mostly. Kind of the Herbalife version of Steve’s super-soldier serum,” Nat says, moving closer and watching the video with them. “It has the downside of making him Hulk out for a few minutes, and that’s when you found him. He’s chasing a man name Petro Sergei. He’s had a contract on his head for almost a year, but he’s good at hiding. Apparently, Kraven was closing in on him, when he decided on a pick-me-up and you interrupted him. Sergei was able to get away, and Kraven’s been on the warpath since. A low-powered warpath, where we have no idea what his next move is going to be, but there’s been a trail of bodies in his wake.”

 

“I guess the real question here is: Is it going to be easier to find Sergei and use him as bait, or try to follow the bodies until we run into Kraven?” Tony muses, fingers absently going through Peter’s hair, before he remembers he should probably be a little more appropriate in front of others, and withdraws his hand. “What do you think, Peter?”

 

Peter makes a soft little malcontent grunt when Tony pulls his hand away, but he doesn’t say anything about it, not wanting to embarrass his husband in front of his friend by being needy. “I think there are fewer bodies, if we can get our hands on Sergei first,” Peter decides, looking up from the files for the first time to focus on Nat. “When you say Kraven’s getting herbs out of Africa-?” he asks her, eyes narrowing.

 

“I mean that he’s found somebody in Wakanda to smuggle out traces of the heart-shaped herb. Not enough to be permanent, but enough to make him dangerous,” Natasha confirms. “I know the two of you want to finish what you’ve started, but I really think you should consider bringing the team in for this one. Kraven is dangerous.”

 

“What’s that? You want Peter and me on the team?” Tony prompts her, already knowing the answer. He just wants to make her say it, so she’ll stop saying things to him that he has to shoot down.

 

“We’re willing to bring Peter in as a probationary member. For a trial.” Nat crosses her arms. “But, I mean it, Tony. Any funny shit, and that’s it. Trial over.”

 

“I don’t like that you’re trying to use my husband as a bargaining chip. This is already a load of funny shit, and it’s not coming from Peter or me. What do you think, Peter?” he asks his husband, instead of just telling Nat to go fuck herself.

 

“I’m on your side, Tony. Whatever side that is,” Peter says quietly. Part of him wants to take the shot, because old dreams die hard, but it almost sounds like they’re being set up to fail, so the team can keep Iron Man without having to deal with a Spider Man shaped complication.

 

“Fuck your probationary offer, Nat. Nobody else had to do anything like that. You’re acting like I married a trophy husband and want him on the team because he’s pretty, instead of, you know, him being motherfucking Spider Man,” Tony says with a burst of pride in his chest. “Thanks for the intel on Kraven. Try not to let the elevators close on your ass on your way out.”

 

Peter looks up from the file, feeling that same burst of pride in his chest when Tony says that. He offers a half-hearted wave at Nat as she heads toward the elevator with a sigh. When she’s gone, he looks over at Tony with a soft, “Thanks. For the vote of confidence. That means a lot.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Tony murmurs, leaning in for a kiss, then adding with a grin. “You know, I think we’re wearing them down. Pretty soon they’ll come to us with a real offer, and not some probationary bullshit that’s just a waste of your time.”

 

“You really think so?” Peter asks, and there it is: that hope again. He tries to tamp it down, but doesn’t quite manage to curb his enthusiasm. “I just want to be where I can do that most good. With you. It used to just the the first one, but now it’s mostly the second. I still want to be an Avenger, but not as much as I want to be with you.”

 

“You deserve to be an Avenger, kid. More than I ever did,” Tony says, frowning a little in thought. Tony’s just never given a shit one way or another about being on the team. Mostly, it’s been a pain in the ass. But he can see how important it is to Peter, and he knows that hope in those dark eyes. “It might not work out for us getting back on the team, but I’m going to try, okay?” he says, bending to kiss him softly.

 

Both of Peter’s hands go to Tony’s hair, gripping as they kiss. He holds tightly to the man, drawing the kiss out until he’s breathless, then rests his forehead against Tony’s. “I love you. And, I’m pretty excited to have at least one thing off my plate. Hopefully we’re not just replacing finding Kraven with finding Sergei. I feel like I’m wearing thin. Grown upping is hard work,” he offers that last bit up with a grin. After all, two weeks ago, he’d just been graduating. Now, he’s a public figure, an unmasked hero, and he’s got a demanding job and a new husband. At least he hasn’t had to leave Avenger’s Tower in the two weeks since they returned from Vegas. He imagines it might be worse, if he’d had to deal with the press.

 

Tony promises Peter things will get easier, they just need to give it time. Granted, Tony’s not sure yet  _ how _ things are supposed to be easier, or what he can do to lessen the load for his husband, but he’s going to come up with something. Anything that might make Peter’s life better.

 

There’s nothing Tony wouldn’t do for Peter Stark.

  
  


#

 

It takes them a week to find Sergei, with FRIDAY running full time on the project and Peter poring over hours of cctv footage, trying to find a license plate number, once they knew about when and where he had been, in Vegas. Tony spends most of his time playing catch up in meetings and work he’s been putting off, and trying to convince Peter that FRIDAY can do the scans faster and more efficiently, which would, hey, give him time to sleep.

 

Peter waves him off, working on his fifteenth cup of coffee for the day, ignoring the way even  _ his _ heart is starting to react to the caffeine.

 

In the end, he feels vindicated when it’s  _ him, _ not FRIDAY, who finds Sergei’s whereabouts. “I wouldn’t make a bad PI, huh, Mr. Stark?” he says proudly, if somewhat woozily. “If, you know, the Spider Man or engineering gigs don’t work out for me. Or the being a trophy husband, I guess.”

“You are the best at everything you do. Especially being a trophy husband,” Tony murmurs, giving his temple a kiss before guiding the sleepy young man along to bed. “Oh, look what we have here. A bed. I think you should lie down in it, and, you know, shut your eyes. See what happens. Then, when you’re all rested up, and not the walking dead, we’ll go get the guy, use him as bait, and kick some ass. What do you say?” Tony rumbles, smoothing the younger man’s hair as he speaks.

 

“We’ve got to fly all the way to Fresno,” he mumbles, even as Tony leads him to the bed. “That’s a five hour flight. I could sleep on the plane,” Peter doesn’t quite resist, but he does point out what seems like a better compromise. “If Kraven gets to him first, all my digging was for nothing, and we have to start over,” he points out, the words coming out a little bit slurred, when Tony starts playing with his hair.

 

“Kraven hasn’t found him in this long. He’s not going to find him in the next few hours,” Tony tells the younger man, pulling back the covers. He goes about undressing him, then guiding him into bed, and tucking him in. Then he pulls off his shoes and strips, before getting into bed on the other side. “Besides, I need a nap myself. And I need to hold you,” he rumbles, wrapping an arm around his husband.

 

“Well, when you put it that way,” Peter mumbles snuggling in against Tony’s side. Within the span of a few breaths, sleep has him, whether he likes it or not.

  
  
  
  


#

  
  


24 hours later, they have Sergei in custody, in the middle of nowhere. He’ll be going to prison for the rest of his life, for human trafficking, among other crimes, but at least he’ll be alive. Which, they told him was a step up from what would happen to him if Kraven found him. After months of hiding from the tracker, he was willing to come peacefully, in exchange for his safety.

 

It doesn’t take long for Kraven to come to them. Barely twelve hours in a tent in the wilderness, which Peter thought would have been kind of romantic, if not for the Russian prisoner and Tony’s complaining about the great outdoors. He’s already decided that Tony’s idea of camping is probably going to be renting a cabin in the Adirondacks, that has five star amenities, but no tech.

 

He doesn’t have long to ruminate on Tony’s dislike of their surroundings, though, not when they’re fighting Kraven, and he comes at them like a cornered animal every surge of the attack. It’s like fighting some bizarre mix of Hulk and Black Panther, and the fight isn’t going as well as they’d hoped, despite being two on one and Peter having his suit.

 

At least Tony doesn’t have to be shy about using those hand cannons out here far away from possibly bystanders. But, despite being able to go all out with the weapons in his suit, Tony is getting tired fast, and breaking out in a cold sweat. He’s in his 50’s, after all, so hopping around in the Iron Man suit just isn’t as easy as it used to be. It doesn’t help that Kraven seems to have the stamina of ten young men, running circles around them, toying with them. Tony gets the impression that Kraven’s waiting for him to wear out. Waiting to humiliate him. Otherwise, why wouldn’t he just finish them off, kill Sergei, and be on his way?

 

“Boss, you’re having arrhythmias. Your blood pressure is through the roof, and-”

 

“Shut up, FRIDAY,” Tony snaps at the AI, blocking an attempt Kraven makes to bash Peter’s head in with his hand cannons, sending the man stumbling back a few feet. But it only seems to make Kraven angier, and amused all at once.

 

“You’re getting tired, Iron Man,” Kraven mocks him in that thick Russian accent. “I smell the fear coming off of you in waves, and death.”

 

“Death?” Peter’s focus on Kraven breaks to take a look over at Tony. Sure he’s getting a little slower, but they’ve been at this fight long enough to clear an acre of woodland down to the brush. They’re both getting slower. Kraven’s the one who acts like this is a walk in the park. Then FRIDAY pipes up helpfully in his earpiece that it would appear Mr. Stark is having a mild heart attack, and Peter sees red.

 

He charges into Kraven, slinging webbing that he’s modified enough the Russian can’t break it instantly, fists and feet flying. He’s like a rabid animal, fighting and  _ punishing _ him, until the man’s unconscious, beaten and bleeding heavily.

 

Then, a careless shot of webbing leaves Sergei secured to a tree and a heavy set of steel manages are placed onto Kraven's wrists. "Talk to me FRIDAY. How's Tony?" A little bit of red leaves his eyes as he takes in Tony, still standing in his suit, and is replaced by concern and fear.

 

“I feel fine,” Tony manages, that cold sweat not going away. He manages to stay on his feet, because he’s locked the knees of the suit, using it to hold himself up. Now that they’re not actively fighting, the adrenaline isn’t quite as strong, and he really is starting to feel… uncomfortable.

 

“His arrhythmia is getting worse,” FRIDAY says cheerfully, audible to both Tony and Peter. 

 

Fuck. Even if they leave Kraven and Sergei here in the woods for somebody else to deal with, Tony can still get to the hospital quicker by flying, with Peter following in the car he doesn’t have a license to drive. Well. He’s a genius. He can figure it out as he goes. 

 

“FRIDAY. Get Tony to the hospital,  _ now _ . Keep me updated. Tell the FBI to meet me at the hospital to take in Sergei and put in a call to the Avengers that Kraven is here. Hopefully, the restraints will hold him until they can get here.” 

 

It won’t take the team nearly as much time as the five hours it took in Tony’s private jet, but there’s still time for him to escape. He drags the unconscious Kraven to a still standing tree big enough he can’t quite reach around it and uses copious amounts of the webbing to secure his manacled form to it. Hopefully that’ll hold him, since he can’t move his arms to break out.

 

There’s something indescribably awful about FRIDAY taking Tony to the hospital. Tony doesn’t fight it, though. Doesn’t try to override Peter’s command to the AI. Instead, he just closes his eyes, and goes for the ride. When they get to the hospital, medical professionals surround him, and ask him to take the suit off so they can take care of him. It’s as easy as pressing a button, and the suit rolls away, seemingly tucking itself into thin air.

 

That’s when Tony falls, without the suit to keep him standing, and then he gets to really feel like an old, helpless man. Well, he may be old, and helpless in his current state, but he’s also a billionaire, so the medical professionals fall all over themselves to take care of him. Or, at least, that’s what Tony believes is the reason. Maybe there’s some hero worship involved. Or maybe they’re just good doctors and nurses.

 

It takes Peter almost an hour to get there by car, Sergei tucked into the backseat, bound and gagged and waiting for the FBI. He tosses the keys to the agent in charge, then sprints into the hospital without looking back. When he finds Tony, he’s already been briefed that the heart attack was mild, and that he’ll make a full recovery. It’s just going to take some time for him to get there.

 

It’s the first time in his life that Peter realizes that time might not always be his friend. That eventually it’s going to rob him of his husband, if something else doesn’t do it first. There are tears in his eyes as he reaches for Tony’s hand, squeezing it softly and pressing a kiss to the knuckles.

 

“Hey, kid,” Tony rumbles quietly, sounding tired. “You did great today.” They only survived because Peter saved them, after all. Tony hadn’t done what he was supposed to do, today. He hadn’t lasted in this test standing shoulder to shoulder with his husband. He just… thought he had more time until he’d have to face this. At least until he was sixty.

 

“ _ We _ did okay,” he corrects. “I don’t think either of us was at our best,” Peter tries for a light tone and misses by a mile. “I called the Avengers to come get Kraven. Hopefully, he’ll still be there when they get to him.” Fuck. His husband had a  _ heart  _ attack. He works on breathing through his nose, trying to fight back the panic of the situation.

 

Before Tony has to reply, Nat and Steve, still in uniform, appear in the hospital room door. 

 

“How you feeling?” Nat asks him, taking him in as he lays there.

 

“How the  _ fuck _ do you think he feels?” Peter snaps. “He feels like maybe he should have had a whole team to back him up, instead of a wet behind the ears kid. But you guys are so fucking stubborn that he had a  _ heart attack _ and had to keep fighting through it. You know why I wanted to be an Avenger? Because you guys take care of each other. But where. The. Fuck. Were. You?” Peter bites out the words in a thick voice before he strides from the room, leaving Tony to speak for himself.

 

The uncharacteristic cursing and snapping at everyone surprises Tony, and seems to surprise Nat and Steve, too. It has Tony taking a deep breath and reaching for his IV to pull it out, intent on following his husband, but Steve is faster, pulling his hand away. That has Tony yelling and thrashing in frustration, because the last thing he needs right now is to have more control taken from him. His blood pressure and heart rhythm escalate to the point that a nurse comes in and kicks the visitors out, leaving Tony to stew in his own anger.

 

Never again, Tony vows to himself. He’s never going to be this weak again.

 

#

  
  


They postpone the wedding, so Tony can have time to heal without deadlines, but instead of convalescing, he locks himself into his lab and begins working on a project he won’t talk about. Weeks pass, and Peter barely sees his husband, except when he comes to the penthouse to sleep and the occasional meal that Tony leaves the lab to eat. Peter’s tried to go in and check on him, but his badge won’t open the door, and FRIDAY’s no help, merrily insisting that her Boss doesn’t want disturbances.

 

It’s halfway through the third week, when Peter receives a text message to come to the lab. Tony’s done working on his project. His breath hitches in anticipation; it’s the first text or call he’s gotten since Tony got out of the hospital, and he tears his way down to the lab, going as fast as his legs and the elevator will take him, only to find the Avengers already assembled and waiting for his arrival.

 

“Oh, good, everyone’s here. Now we can get started,” Tony says with excitement in his voice, giving Peter a wink and a smile. He’s wearing a skin tight suit, not unlike Peter’s Spider Suit, but without the colors. It’s dull grey, and the arc reactor shines brightly through the fabric. “For those of you who don’t know, I’ve been working on a project. That’s all of you, except Peter. I’m about to show off my brilliance again, but before I do, I think it’s important that you all know FRIDAY’s got a recent DNA sample on file. And a few older ones. They’re all analyzed and ready to go.”

 

“What’s going on, Tony?” Peter asks him, his voice hoarse, because anything that requires a DNA sample doesn’t sound promising.

 

Tony ventures over to his husband and cups his face, before giving him a firm, if reasonably chaste, kiss on the lips. “You look great. You look so  _ great _ in this suit,” he comments on what Peter’s wearing for work, instead of really answering his question. Then he’s dropping his hands and stepping back, a grin on his face. “Everything’s fine, Peter. You’ll see in just a few seconds.”

 

With that, he starts flipping buttons on a panel, then steps into a circle with various mirror-like instruments hanging from the ceiling that come down over Tony’s head, a few feet above it. “I love you, Peter Stark,” he tells the younger man, and then he’s pressing buttons on a device on his wrist, before he seems to disappear entirely.

 

“Tony!” Peter barks out his name, terror coursing through his veins before he turns furious eyes to the Avengers. “Where did he go?!” he snaps out.

 

Just as Nat starts to open her mouth to try to explain what she thinks might be going on, a young man appears where Tony had stood. He’s wearing the same outfit Tony had worn, and he has the same device on his wrist. He even looks remarkably similar to the man he’s replaced, just… younger. Maybe Peter’s age, or close to it.

 

Peter stares at this younger man, his jaw opening in shock as his brain tries to fathom what he’s just seen. His mind rejects the obvious as impossible, but anything’s possible, when it comes to Tony Stark, isn’t it?

 

“Tony?” he asks in a strangled voice, taking in the younger man. His lips are fuller, his face softer, giving him a sensual look, where Tony had been distinguished and handsome. This man isn’t rugged at all, but he is beautiful in a way he’d never considered his husband might have been.

 

“Yeah, kid. It’s me,” Tony replies, and even his voice is a little different. Not quite as deep and gravelly, but it’s close. Maybe the thing that gives him away the most are the eyes. Though they seem sharper now, they’re filled with love for the man he’s staring at. A stranger wouldn’t be able to fake it. Wouldn’t even know they should. Tony stays where he is, and says next, “FRIDAY, confirm my identity.”   
  


“Yes, Boss,” FRIDAY chirps, and Tony plucks up a nearby swab, using it to collect saliva in his mouth, before popping it into an analyser. Seconds later, FRIDAY chirps again, “Identity confirmed. This is Tony Stark.” On a screen, the various DNA samples are displayed, the newest matching all the previous ones.

 

“How?” Peter rasps out, tears filling his eyes as he drops to a knee. Oh, his brain is quick enough to fill in the likeliest scenario; that he’s figured out how to move time through an object, which means he’s probably close to figuring out how to move an object through time, if he hasn’t already. “Why?”

 

“Because ten, maybe twenty years with you wasn’t enough,” Tony says quietly, stepping closer, crouching down so he’s eye level with the other man. “Now we can be young together, and get older together. Now we have a chance at a full life with each other.”

 

Peter slides backward, away from this new Tony, so that he’s sitting on his bottom, his knees against his chest. It’s an involuntary reaction, because he’s conditioned to only letting his husband that deeply into his personal space, and his body doesn’t recognize this man as him. Not yet, at least. “And if this hadn’t gone right? I wouldn’t have had  _ any _ life with you,” he says, with a flash of anger that quickly goes cold.

 

Tony looks shocked when Peter moves away from him, but he doesn’t try to get closer. Then Peter lashes out verbally, and Tony swallows hard, straightening. He’s not going to fight with his husband. Especially not in front of these assholes.

 

“Feel free to help yourselves out the door,” Tony says dismissively to the Avengers, who haven’t done much of anything but gawk at him like he’s done a party trick. When they don’t move right away, anger so pure and intense, like nothing he’s felt in decades, courses through his veins. “I said get the  _ fuck _ out!”

 

“Call us when you have things sorted out,” Steve says, ushering Nat toward the door, the others falling in behind them. “We’ll have questions, and we’ll want to know you’re stable. Or whatever you call it when you don’t keep aging backwards or something.”

 

Tony snorts, and glares at the assembled heroes until the last one is gone. Then he looks to his husband, who’s still sitting on the floor in a ball. Not willing to admit that  _ maybe _ he made a mistake, Tony growls quietly, and stalks out of the lab himself. “I’m getting a drink,” he calls back over his shoulder, so Peter knows where he’ll be.

 

Tony’s gone. Disbelief courses through Peter’s system, along with pain. Not just gone to get a drink, while he sits here starting to cry.  _ Gone _ , gone. Like he’ll never see him again gone, because even if they get thirty more years together, it’s not likely he’ll grow into the same man he was before.

 

Time passes. A lot of it, Peter realizes when he finally stops crying and looks at his watch. Climbing to his feet, he moves woodenly to the elevator that will take him to Tony’s penthouse. Their penthouse, only nothing here feels very welcoming right now.

 

When the elevator doors open, he walks into the room, unsure what to expect and looks around for the new Tony, apprehension clear on his face.

 

It was enough time that Tony could be very drunk by now, but he isn’t, having nursed the same Scotch as he waited. He’s seated at a table with a chess game in front of him, playing against FRIDAY. He’s changed into clothes he must have gotten for the occasion, given how well they fit. A button down shirt with a leather jacket over it, and jeans with boots. He’d considered one of Peter’s hoodies, but had decided against it. But he did steal one and hide it in his things. Because. Well. Today might be the day his husband leaves him. And he wanted  _ something _ that smells like the other man that he’d be able to keep.   
  
Cautious dark eyes lift from the chess board to Peter, that almost empty glass of Scotch lifted in a silent salute. He throws it back, swallowing the contents, before carefully setting the glass down, and rising from his chair. Hands go into his jacket pockets, and he ventures toward Peter, but doesn’t get too close, this time, just watches him.

 

Peter’s silent as Tony watches him, not knowing what to say to the man. His dark eyes search Tony’s and after a minute he says heavily, “You should have told me what you were doing. I deserved to know that I might be losing my husband today.”   
  


Tony nods slightly, and takes a small step toward Peter, before stopping again. “Yeah, you’re probably right about that,” is said quietly. Nostrils flare as he takes in a deep breath, thumb playing with his wedding band, the movement hidden in his jacket pocket.

 

“Probably?” Peter asks, his voice emotionless. He feels old. He’s never felt old before, but he feels it now. It seeps into his bones and makes him feel like he has anchors tied around him. “Am I older than you?” Maybe it’s a stupid question, because technically, no, he isn’t. But in practice, he might be. It’s hard to tell.

 

“I should be about a year older than you. I guess I could have shot for the same age, but where’s the fun in that?” Tony murmurs, dark eyes appreciatively taking in just how good the other man looks in that suit. Fuck, the hormones coursing through his system are almost overwhelming. Sure, it’s not as bad as if he’d been a teenager, but a 23-year-old Tony Stark is still one horny fuck.

 

“Good. I’m not sure I could handle being the older man,” Peter says, walking to the bar and pouring himself a measure of bourbon. Tony’s preferred drink, except  _ this _ Tony is drinking Scotch. He takes a heavy drink before he looks back at Tony. “You want another drink?” he offers, reaching for the decanter of Scotch and holding it up.

 

“I’ll take that bourbon. Had the Scotch so I could resist it long enough for you to come up,” Tony explains, going to get his glass, then stride over to Peter, setting the glass on the bar counter and waiting for the other man to pour him a measure. He’s quiet a long moment as the other man pours his drink, and then he says hoarsely, “It’s still me, Peter. Just, the body’s younger. But it’s still  _ me _ .”

 

That brings Peter’s eyes up from where they’d been studying his drink. He takes in the other man, sees the sincerity in his eyes. “I know, Tony,” he says quietly before he takes another deep drink of his bourbon. “I mean, I didn’t know. But I do now. Thank you.”  _ Thank you.  _ He sounds like an asshole, but he doesn’t know what to say anymore. He reaches out a trembling hand to touch at Tony’s ring, remembering the sickness and health part of their vows. This is like extreme health. He pulls his hand back, and tries to think of it that way for a minute.

 

Hope fills dark eyes when Peter touches Tony’s ring. When Peter withdraws his hand, Tony counts to ten slowly in his head, taking a drink of his bourbon. Then he sets his glass aside, and leans forward. He’s careful not to touch Peter, but he does speak quietly near his ear, “Forgive me.”

 

“I will,” Peter says, after a moment’s silence. He puts his head down on the counter, trying not to wish for the calloused hands of  _ his _ Tony to stroke through his hair, the way he used to, to soothe him. Because he’s seen  _ this _ Tony’s hands and they’re smooth and new, like the rest of him seems to be.

 

It hits Tony then, the realization that, among all the other things going on with this situation, his husband just isn’t attracted to him anymore. It has him opening his mouth to say something, shock settling into his system as Peter lays his head down on the counter and seems to brood. Then he closes his mouth, and swallows hard.

 

Anything. He’d told himself he’d do  _ anything _ for his husband.

 

It has him knocking back the rest of his bourbon, and marching off toward the elevators.

 

“Where are you going?!” Fear spikes Peter’s system, when Tony starts to leave, and he moves quickly to get between him and the elevator, holding his arms out, like he’s guarding him in basketball, like Tony might try to make a break for it.

 

“Back. I’m going to give you your husband back,” Tony tells him, ducking under an arm and pressing the elevator button. Then he’s crossing his arms, having to wait for the fucking elevator.

 

“You said you  _ are _ my husband,” Peter slides into the space between Tony and the elevator door. “Which is it?”

 

Tony wets his lips, staring at this other man he wants to do anything and everything for. “What I mean is, I’m going to give you the body back you want me to have. I shouldn’t have done this. I fucked up. I can admit I’ve made a mistake.”

 

“You did. You didn’t talk to me about it before you made this really fucking  _ big _ decision. And I’m mad about it, but this is something you want enough to risk your life for it. I don’t want you to change back, Tony,” he blurts out, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Please.”

 

Dark eyes stare into brown, then look down to the hand on his shoulder. “You don’t want me to change back?” he asks quietly, heart pounding in his chest. When he looks back into Peter’s eyes, there’s that hope again that flares in his.

 

“No. Let’s just go to bed. Or we can lay in front of the fire. Or we can go for a walk in Central Park. Whatever keeps you from doing that again,” he says, with a rush of relief. Both hands cup the other man’s jaws and he presses their foreheads together, squeezing his eyes shut. “Just stay with me.”

 

“I’m here, Peter,” Tony says hoarsely, his heart hurting for how much he’s scared his husband. Strong, if more lithe arms wrap around Peter, pulling him tightly to himself. Seconds tick by, and he eventually says thickly, “You look so  _ great _ in this suit.”

 

“That’s because my husband has great taste and dresses me well,” he says, wrapping his arms around Tony. He’s a little hesitant, at first, but as he begins to familiarize himself with the differences between the solid wall of the older Tony’s chest and the more lithe chest of the younger, his arms tighten, until he’s holding himself flush with this younger man. He leans his head back and presses a soft, questioning kiss to Tony’s wider mouth, and groans, because his flavor is exactly right. This is  _ Tony. _

 

At the sound of that groan, Tony pushes fingers up into Peter’s hair, fisting the strands, a split second before he’s pinning his body to the wall beside the elevator with his own. Soft lips part, and his tongue pushes into Peter’s mouth, devouring the taste of his husband with long, deep thrusts of his tongue. A growl rises in his throat, and then he’s letting his arms move from around Peter, only so he can shed his leather jacket, and work on the buttons of his shirt.

 

Peter works absently on his own shirt and tie, his eyes wide to watch as Tony bares his chest by opening his shirt. “Fuck, Tony. You’re  _ beautiful _ ,” he breathes out a hand leaving his buttons to rest atop the swell of his pectoral. He stares hard before he raises his eyes to his husband’s. He’s always thought Tony was hot, but seeing him like this, so young and perfect makes him understand why he’d done it. Why it had been worth the risk. What he hadn’t really been giving up in order to have this. “I get it, Tony,” he whispers. “I understand.”

 

“You do?” Tony asks quietly, hope making his eyes brighter. The compliment to his physical appearance feels  _ good _ , especially when he’d just told himself his husband wasn’t attracted to him anymore. He lets his shirt drop to the floor, the arc reactor still there, glowing on his chest. Though he could pull it off without much in the way of consequences at this point.

 

Not that he wants to. It’s something familiar he’s all the more unwilling to part with, now that he’s made this change.

 

Carefully, he reaches forward, and pulls the other man’s tie slowly from the collar of his shirt, the silk whispering against the cloth. He moves that tie to drape over the back of his own neck, and slides Peter’s jacket off next, swallowing heavily as he drapes that over an arm. Then he’s working on what’s left of the shirt buttons, pulling the shirt out of his pants to untuck it.

 

Peter kisses Tony hungrily, his hands sliding down his chest and abdominals, gripping his hips and giving a little squeeze before he opens the mouth of his jeans and reaches inside to stroke long fingers along his cock. “I can’t wait to have you like this, Tony,” he leans in to breathe the words into the other man’s ear, kissing it after.

 

Tony's lips part for that little squeeze to his hips, a small gasp falling from them. He hasn't missed that Peter isn't calling him Mr. Stark, but he's not going to risk their forward progress to bring it up, either. Instead, he's swallowing hard as those long fingers stroke his cock, and the other man's voice breathes into his ear. That ear turns red after the kiss, and Tony has to concentrate to focus enough to keep undressing his husband.

 

As he peels Tony’s pants down his hips and knees, Peter drops to his knees and reaches to untie the man’s shoes, removing them and his socks, so he can step out of the jeans. With his mouth so close to his husband’s erection, he can’t help but reach for it, sucking him between his lips. The skin is smoother, silkier, like the rest of the skin on his body, and Peter groans a bit as he enjoys the same flavor he knows to be  _ Tony _ . “Fuck, you taste good, Mr. Stark,” he breathes out. With his eyes closed, it’s easier to remember that this man is his Mr. Stark, something he suspects he’ll remember more and more as they build new memories.

 

A sob of relief shakes through Tony's body, because he still gets to be  _ Mr. Stark _ . No matter how bad he's fucked up today, he's still  _ Mr. Stark. _ "I love you, Peter Stark," Tony says thickly, carding fingers through his husband's hair. A bead of precum wells on the tip of his cock, only to get lost in the wet heat of Peter's mouth.

 

Peter groans for the flavor of Tony against his tongue, but raises his head to look up into Tony’s eyes. “We’re alright, Mr Stark,” he assures him before he takes him into his mouth again, setting up a slow rhythm of sucking, base to tip. This is the first time he’s been with his husband since before the heart attack, and he’s treasuring every moment on touching and tasting that he’s given.

 

Tears come to Peter's eyes when he thinks about how long it’s been since he’s been with his husband. First, he’d been so busy trying to find Kraven, then Tony had been in his lab non stop. It makes him hungry for him in a way he’s never quite been. He feels needy and there’s more than a little hurt in his heart for how far away they’d let each other become.

 

"Feels good," Tony breathes out, his senses on fire from the cock sucking. He starts thrusting his hips gently, cock sliding in and out of Peter's mouth. More and more precum wells up to give his husband more tastes of him. "Really good," he pants out, hands tight in Peter's hair.

 

Peter keeps his movements steady, drinking down the precum he’s fed. He feels that pain more and more acutely as the seconds tick by, but at least he has him now. He’s never going to take this for granted again, he swears it to himself as he sucks with increased pressure and faster bobs of his head.

 

There’s a quick, sharp breath, and then Tony’s pulling out of Peter’s mouth, squeezing the head of his cock to keep himself from coming. He stares down at his husband, a hand still in his hair, and then crouches down to take a closer look at his face. “Hey,” he breathes out, a thumb smoothing the corner of Peter’s left eye, which glistens with an unshed tear. “No sad blowjobs allowed in the Tower. You want to get in bed with me, and we can do all the really nice things that don’t make you cry?”

 

“Going down on you doesn’t make me cry,” Peter mumbles, turning his face away, so he doesn’t have to look into Tony’s eyes. “I just started thinking about how long it’s been since we’ve made time for each other. And how things could have gone wrong, and I didn’t even know our last time could have been our last time, and I’m sorry I took you for granted, Mr. Stark. I won’t do it again.”

 

“Did you just apologize for shit that’s my fault?” Tony asks, staring at the younger man and tucking his fingers under his chin, hoping to coax eye contact. “Because we don’t apologize for shit that’s not our fault in this house. Nope.” He leans in, and kisses the man’s temple, and starts smoothing his hair. “I’m sorry for being a douchebag. Slightly less sorry for being a younger douchebag, but still a little sorry, and really sorry for it being something that’s scared you and hurt you.”

 

Peter sniffs and looks into Tony’s brown eyes which in this softer, fuller face look even bigger and more expressive than ever before. “It’s okay, Mr. Stark. Let’s just... go to bed.” He finds himself bone tired, that sensation of feeling old settling heavy on him again. But, he wants this man, needs to feel the bond between them more than he ever has, so he tries on a smile, before speaking in a thick voice, “I hear there are nice things to be had there.”

 

“Really nice things. Also, I kind of didn’t think you’d mind so much, me changing and all, and kinda thought you’d give me insta-sex, so the bedroom is gonna be, well- You’ll see.” Tony clears his throat, and takes Peter’s hand, tugging him along and into the bedroom, the pair leaving most of their clothes near the elevator like a couple of savages.

 

Inside the bedroom, there’s red rose petals all over the bed, and candles all throughout the room that need to be lit, but at least Tony didn’t light them beforehand. A bouquet of flowers in a vase is on Peter’s side of the bed, with a box of chocolates, and there’s chocolate covered strawberries on Tony’s side of the bed, so he can, you know, feed them to Peter and eat some himself. There’s even champagne, on ice in a bucket, the ice mostly melted by now.

 

“I’d say I should try harder to check my ego, but we both know how that’d go,” Tony mutters, standing there fighting off a feeling of awkwardness by taking in a deep breath that makes his smooth chest rise visibly.

 

Peter looks around the room and somehow, it starts to make him feel better. His husband honestly hadn’t foreseen his reaction and gone ahead with his plan. He thought it would make him happy, and been eager to give him what he thought would be a gift. The idea makes him smile and he turns to Tony, watching as he takes that deep breath. “We should light the candles. I think we have some celebrating to do.”

 

“Yeah?” Tony asks with a sudden grin, looking at the expression on his husband’s face. “That’s… that’s a great idea. I’d like that. Just, one thing.” He kneels down and goes about helping Peter’s shoes and socks off, then stands, and gets his husband out of his suit pants and underwear. “You know how I was trying not to wrinkle your suit? It’s all wrinkled now, so…” he drops the pants on the floor. Then he kisses Peter to make it better.

 

“Let the cleaners take care of it,” Peter breathes out as Tony kisses him deeply. He wraps his arms around him, pulling him close enough to feel his cock hard against his abdomen, his own cock pressing into Tony’s skin just as tightly. Then, without a care for the candles they haven’t lit, he begins to walk them back toward the bed, and falls onto it, pulling Tony down with him. 

 

Tony falls onto the mattress over Peter, hands and knees sinking into the soft sheets. He kisses him hard, then mutters against his lips, “I want you to ride my cock, Peter. That’s something we haven’t done yet, and I think you’d look  _ beautiful _ astride my lap like that, bouncing.”

 

Peter groans for the imagery. The only time he’s ever tried that was on their wedding night, and Tony wanted to stop, because of his ribs. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admits hoarsely, kissing Tony again as he reaches for his cock, jerking it slowly. 

 

“Well, climb on, cowboy,” Tony mutters against his mouth, rocking his hips a little into that slowly jerking hand. Then he’s pulling away with a short kiss, and dropping into a sitting up position with his back against the headboard of the bed. He gives his lap a pat, and reaches for one of Peter’s hands with his own.

 

Peter swallows a little bit as he takes in the younger Stark, feeling a little bit unnerved by the lap pat and being called cowboy. He remembers that at this age, Tony was swimming in tail, and he’s never done this before. “Cowboy. Hehe. Yeah,” he mutters, moving to follow Tony’s directions. He takes a deep breath and fights the flush creeping up his body. He’s not sure exactly why Tony’s words are bothering him so badly. Maybe he hoped for something more familiar.

 

Taking another deep breath, he leans in for another kiss, needing the taste of Tony’s mouth to chase away the nerves. Then, he realizes he’s forgotten the lube and climbs off awkwardly, reaching for the bottle kept in the bedside table. “Sorry,” he mumbles, as he pours some into his hand and starts to stroke it over Tony’s erection. “I almost forgot.”

 

“I fucked up,” Tony says bluntly, even as he’s breathing out roughly from the younger man stroking his cock. “I can tell by the way you’re getting all nervous. How can I make it right?” he asks, a hand going up into Peter’s hair, stroking the strands at the back of his neck and crown. “Don’t you know how crazy I am about you?” he asks softly, trying to keep eye contact with his suddenly shy husband, lips brushing his lightly.

 

“I’m scared,” Peter whispers out, his voice harsh. “I’m scared you won’t be the same, or I won’t be the same to you and you’ll go looking for somebody else. And you’ll find them, because you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and you’re smart and funny and charming, and you’re really, really rich. So, you’ll find somebody else, if you go looking. And I’m ruined for anyone but you.”

 

At first, when Peter says something about him being different, Tony feels a little defensive, but he doesn’t interrupt. He’s glad he didn’t, too, because by the time that last statement falls from Peter’s soft lips, Tony’s part in an audible breath, eyes widening a little. “Peter…” he begins, both hands coming up to cup his husband’s face. “I love you. I married you.  _ You’re _ the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. You’re smart, and funny, and charming. Maybe in a more nerdy kind of way, but that’s what really gets my engine running. And half of what’s mine? That’s yours, now. So that makes you really, really rich, too. It all adds up to you being just as great as you see me. But I’m kind of grateful you don’t know that, because I’d…” Tony’s voice lowers, “I’d be devastated if you ever replaced me.”

 

“How could I replace  _ you _ ?” Peter chokes out, wrapping his arms around Tony to hold him tight, his forehead resting on the other man’s muscular shoulder. He sniffs hard, trying to keep himself under control, then kisses Tony desperately, his mouth opening to invite the other man’s tongue inside for a deep taste of his mouth.

 

Tony’s hand goes into Peter’s hair and he clenches the strands as he takes the younger man’s mouth in a deep, fervent kiss. “I can’t wait. I have to have you right now,” he breathes out roughly, rocking forward to press his husband’s back to the mattress, so their heads are near the footboard of the bed. His cock is already lubed up from moments before, so he guides the head to Peter’s entrance, and slowly pushes forward, hissing over how tight he is from how long it’s been since they’ve had sex.

 

Peter’s eyes squeeze shut in ecstasy as Tony parts his ass, and he cries out his husband’s name loudly. Inch by inch, Tony slides into him, and when his hips are flush with his ass, Peter opens lust drugged eyes to stare up at him, seeing not a younger or older version of Tony, but just  _ Tony _ . “Hey, Mr. Stark,” he breathes out, a little silly from how good this feels.

 

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Tony repeats, except where Peter sounds boyish and it really drives his kink senses up the wall, Tony just sounds dirty. He kisses Peter very gently, letting out a huffed breath against his lips as he pulls back an inch, then rocks his hips forward. “You feel so fucking good, Peter Stark,” Tony adds, kissing him slowly, coaxing lips to part for his tongue.

 

“It still makes my heart stutter, when you call me that,” Peter groans out, before he opens his mouth for Tony to taste his mouth. He lets the older man’s tongue plunge into his mouth over and over before he has to break the kiss, to catch his breath. His hips start to work against Tony’s and he pants softly with each swing of his hips.

 

“I love you so much, Peter Stark,” Tony tells his husband, his voice straining with the emotions he’s feeling, hips moving in time with the swing of Peter’s. “When I had that heart attack, I was so scared. I don’t ever want to leave you. I don’t want to go anywhere where you won’t be,” he tries to explain to him, tries to make him understand.

 

“I’ll be wherever you go,” Peter promises him, hands splaying across his cheek and jaw as he looks deeply into Tony’s eyes. “You won’t ever have to be alone again, Tony. You’ve got me, and we’ve got so much time now. Because you’re the bravest man I know, and you did the impossible to give it to us,” he babbles the words in bursts between how good it feels to have Tony moving with him. “I love you.”

 

Tony takes in a sharp breath, and then kisses Peter hard again, groaning into his mouth as his hips begin to buck in earnest. He reaches frantically for Peter’s cock, hoping to try to make the other man come before he does. However, in the next few seconds, he’s making a strangled sound into Peter’s mouth, hand jerking at his husband’s cock in stuttering motions as his body tenses, and he fills the younger man with his cum.

 

When Tony begins to come, the hot splash of his seed against Peter’s hot, tight walls trigger his own orgasm. He comes in thick ropes that decorate both of their stomachs. Everything feels too good, all at once, and Peter grins so broadly that it makes his cheeks ache. “You’re so perfect, Mr. Stark. You’re the most amazing being on the planet, and you’re mine.”

 

Feeling heavy and sated, Tony groans an answer at Peter, before lifting his head slowly and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Then he gingerly pulls out of that tight ass, and flops onto the bed beside him. Curiously, he lifts his cum sprinkled hand, and gives it a lick, since he’s never thought to actually  _ taste _ his husband’s cum before. That sparks an interest in him, and has him moving to dip his head to Peter’s stomach, dragging his tongue up his abdominals, collecting more cum and swallowing it.

 

Peter’s abdominal muscles quiver as Tony drags his tongue up them, and his cock springs to life again, just from seeing his husband lick up his cum. “That may be the single sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he whispers hoarsely, his hand moving to cup the back of Tony’s head, so he can thread his fingers through thick black hair.

 

“You taste really good,” Tony mutters, licking the skin clean, then taking Peter’s cock into his mouth with a hungry suck to the head. His tongue drags over the slit, collecting what he can of that flavor, before he releases it again, and flicks his gaze up to his husband’s as his lips ghost down the underside of his shaft. “Should have tried this sooner.”

 

“Uh, Mr. Stark?” Peter stammers out as Tony sucks his cock into his mouth, letting out a ragged breath as he clutches his hair, holding on for dear life. “Oh, boy. That’s, ah... That’s really  _ good _ , Mr. Stark.” His eyes are wide with shock when Tony looks up at him, and it’s all he can do, to not cum immediately from the sensation of it.

 

It is pretty obvious that this is a first for young Peter.

 

That realization spurs Tony on, darkening his eyes even further as he stares up onto wide ones. He moves to get back between Peter’s thighs, spreading them wide, then gets comfortable between them, breaking the eye contact when he nuzzles his face against the younger man’s testicles. His tongue drags up the seam of them after that, and traces a wet path up the underside of Peter’s shaft, where he makes eye contact again.

 

Peter’s eyes go from being wide and shocked to heavy and aroused, as he watches his husband lick his way up his shaft. His balls are tight against his body, already aching to come again, and his cock twitches against his stomach. “I always wondered what this would be like,” he says quietly, his hand stroking the back of Tony’s head. “And  _ that _ mouth is so fucking beautiful. It looked even better when it was wrapped around the head of my cock.”

 

That makes Tony smirk, leaning his weight on an arm as his hand moves up to start stroking Peter’s cock near his face. “Are you talking dirty to me, Mr. Stark?” he asks, before lowering his eyes, and giving an open mouthed suck to the side of Peter’s shaft, near the middle.

 

“ _ Yes _ .” Peter growls the word, his hand tightening in Tony’s hair. For the first time, he really feels - truly understands -  why Tony likes it when he calls him Mr. Stark in bed. “Yes, Tony. I  _ am _ . Does that bother you?”

 

“No, sir,” Tony sprinkles out the next word like sugar onto this already hot situation, moving his hand down to the base of Peter’s cock, so his tongue can drag its way up to the head again. Dark eyes lock on his husband’s, and he wraps his lips around the head of the other man’s cock again, giving it a hungry suck that makes his cheeks flush just a tiny bit.

 

Peter has to take a short break from being Mr. Stark to catch his breath when Tony starts to suck hungrily at his cock. Then, he raises his hips slowly, sliding another inch of his cock past those sensuous lips. He holds that position for a breath, and then he’s lowering his hips, only to raise them again. “I don’t want to hurt your throat, Tony, but I feel like I need to shove my cock into your mouth,” he explains tightly, willing his hips not to do what they really want.

 

Tony stares into Peter’s eyes when that inch is fed to him, his tongue flicking up the underside slowly, the man going otherwise very still. He doesn’t look away when those hips lower, but he does give the head of his cock another greedy suck when that’s all that’s in his mouth. Then there’s a sharp breath as he’s fed that inch again, before a splash of color ignites Tony’s cheeks all the way to his ears when Peter talks about shoving his cock into his mouth. He lifts his head slowly, Peter’s cock released with an audible ‘pop’ from the pressure of his mouth. He gives that cock a few slow strokes, thumb tracing the slit as he breathes out, “You wanna fuck my throat, Mr. Stark?”

 

The words ignite his blood in a way it’s never been hot before. “ _ Yes _ .” The word is solemn and heavy, like he might be admitting to something shameful and dirty. And maybe it is, when they’ve been making love, to want to fuck his husband’s throat like he does. But, it’s like seeing red, only all he can see is his cock sliding in and out of Tony’s mouth, his head pushing into his throat with every thrust. All he can see is feeding this man inch after inch of his cock, until he comes down his throat, getting to leave his seed behind in a way he never has before.

 

“Good. Because I want you to fuck my throat, Mr. Stark,” Tony breathes out, his thumb sliding away so that he can give the head of Peter’s cock a tiny lick, just enough to catch the precum that’s welled there and swallow it. Then, because he’s a kinky fuck, he spits against the underside of the head of Peter’s cock, just to watch that saliva slide down his shaft. When it reaches his balls, he laps it up, giving Peter’s cock a lazy stroke with his hand. “I want you to  _ make _ me take your cock down my throat, Mr. Stark,” he breathes out, an excited hitch in his voice as he nuzzles Peter’s shaft so it brushes his cheek, dark eyes locking on the other man’s once more.

 

Peter moves quickly, shifting to be on his knees in front of the prone Tony. He keeps his legs spread wide, so his cock is still close to the bed, on level with Tony’s face. Then, he gets a good hold of Tony’s hair, gripping the strands and pulling his head closer to his cock, so that the head of it bumps his mouth, then slides into it. He hisses out a breath as the wet warmth of his mouth envelops him and pushes more and more of his cock into Tony’s mouth.

 

When it’s halfway buried in Tony’s mouth, he can feel the head of his cock bumping the back of the other man’s throat and he growls softly as his hips snap forward pushing into it that narrow passage. He holds his hips steady, giving Tony a minute to recover from the shock of it, and then he’s pulling back, only to thrust forward again.

 

As Tony’s hair is pulled, he sits up as best he can on his elbows, and then that thick cock is being pushed into his mouth, just like he wants. Hard breaths saw out of his nostrils, until Peter hits the back of his throat and makes him gag, the ability to breathe through his nose taken away from him. So he parts his lips wider, and struggles to pull in air around Peter’s shaft, the cool sensation of it spreading across Peter’s cock. Wide, dark eyes stare up at Peter when the other man pulls back, Tony panting softly, then they close tightly with another gag when he thrusts forward again. His whole body is tense, to the point that there’s dimples on his ass cheeks, and a leg bends at the knee so his foot is in the air, toes curling.

 

The hand in Tony’s hair leaves it to slide down his spine before he grips one of those dimpled ass cheeks and squeezes the soft bundle of muscle hard with a hand that is rough, compared to Tony’s. He hisses out a breath and slides his cock back, giving the other man a moment to get a good, deep breath before he’s sliding his cock back into his throat. It’s a firm thrust, but not a punishing one, and it’s followed by another and then another in rapid succession. “Fuck, Tony. I need you. I need you so fucking bad,” he rasps out the words, without slowing his hips.

 

A genuine, honest to God moan is surprised out of Tony when that rough hand grabs his ass and squeezes it. His hips shyly lift into the touch, even as the sound of his gags fill the room. They get quieter with every thrust, the man working on not being so loud, until a helpless sort of noise erupts from his throat to vibrate against Peter’s shaft. It’s coupled by his hips grinding against the bed, so his cock gets a bit of friction for how turned on he is.

 

When Tony surprises him with that moan, his other hand moves to grip his other ass cheek, squeezing it as hard as the other hand squeezes. He pushes the cheeks together, then separates them, watching with heated eyes as the supple skin moves beneath his palms. Peter slows his thrusts, because he wants to figure out a way to get the man more friction than just rubbing against the bed. “On your hands and knees, Tony,” he decides, moving so that he stands taller, with his knees closer together to make up the height difference. With Tony’s hips off the bed, his right hand slides around his hip to grip his cock. He doesn’t have a good angle to stroke at, but he can at least grip and give Tony something to thrust through.

 

Next in the array of fun, new sounds Tony makes, comes a whimper, from his ass being gripped on both sides and molded by hard hands. By the time Peter is telling him what to do, he’s quick to do it, sitting up on his hands and knees with that cock still in his mouth. Dark eyes stare up at Peter’s face as he pants around the shaft, just before Peter bends forward to grip his cock. Hesitant hips rock forward into that gripping hand, before he turns his head suddenly, freeing it of all that cock in his mouth, and pants out, “I need to see your face, Mr. Stark. Please.”

 

Peter leans back, sitting on his feet, so that Tony can look up into his face. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he rasps out, a hand cupping Tony’s jaw softly. Suddenly, he cares more about looking into his husband’s eyes than he does about fucking his face, and the change is easy to see in his eyes as he gazes down at the other man. 

 

Tony pants quietly through soft, parted lips, staring up with wide eyes into Peter’s. His heart is pounding in his chest. Fuck, Peter can move fast. Even with this younger body, it’s a lot to take in. He wets his lips in the next moment, then slowly pushes himself up onto his knees, so his face is level with Peter’s. He bows his head so their foreheads touch, and he slides his hands up Peter’s chest. He looks like he has something he wants to say, but he’s having a hard time putting it into words, so he just gives Peter’s mouth a tiny kiss, still staring into his eyes.

 

“That was too much,” Peter says softly, looking into Tony’s eyes. “I got carried away, Tony. I’m so sorry,” he apologises, and the apology is written all over his face, not just his words. He cards his hand through the other man’s hair, pressing their foreheads together again.

 

“It was  _ hot _ ,” Tony corrects him, his voice a little raspy. “Just, the part where I couldn’t see your face. I got scared. That’s all. Everything else was fantastic,” he manages, eyes rolling closed as fingers card through his hair. He swallows hard, peeking his eyes open again, and tries again to say what he wants to say, or something close to it. “I uh… Really liked the way you touched my ass,” is mumbled, ears feeling hot again, so he’s probably back to blushing.

 

“Really?” Peter asks, grinning as his hand slips from Tony’s hair, down his side to grip his ass again. “I really liked that part, too,” he says, fingers tracing designs over the soft skin, after that squeeze. “What else did you like, Tony?”

 

This time, he doesn’t embarrass himself with a moan or whimper, instead just taking in a sharp breath as Peter squeezes his ass. He considers the question, head bowing to ply an open mouthed kiss to Peter’s shoulder, before mumbling against it, “I liked feeling your cock push inside my throat. I liked how aggressive you got. I liked knowing that I was at your mercy.”

 

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Peter breathes out the word as his blood starts another slow boil. He tries to decide what to do with it, with all sorts of images coming to mind. Finally, after a long moment, he says, “I’m going to lay back this time, Tony, and you’re going to take care of me. You’re going to give me what I need, and then I will give you what  _ you _ need.”

 

“That’s pretty vague,” Tony points out helpfully, but his hand goes to Peter’s cock, and starts to slowly stroke it. “Does that mean it’s open to interpretation? Because I’m just over here getting all kinds of ideas, Mr. Stark.”

 

Peter’s cock throbs in Tony’s hand when he gets called Mr. Stark again. “I was intentionally vague, so you can please me however you like,” he clarifies, leaning back until his shoulders touch them mattress, then straightening his legs in front of him. His thick cock lies flush with his abdominal muscles, twitching softly, as if in invitation.

 

“Well then, in that case-” Tony hops back as Peter lies down, and hunts down the lube. He comes back with it, holding it in his left hand while his right gives Peter’s cock a few quick strokes. Then he’s bowing his head to give the end of that cock a suck, until he’s able to lick up more precum. Once he’s satisfied over the little taste, he lifts his head, and breaks eye contact to squeeze lube onto Peter’s cock, stroking it into the shaft slowly with his right hand.

 

“Fuck that feels good,” Peter says, his voice a happy rumble as he takes in the feeling of having his cock stroked with that lube. It always feels good to have Tony’s hands on him like that, but the lube is a nice additive to what they usually do. He closes his eyes to concentrate on the sensation of Tony’s hand sliding up and down his shaft and he hums with pleasure.

 

When Peter closes his eyes, Tony finds his bravery and slowly moves to straddle Peter’s hips, so his cock is just behind him. A part of him wonders if he even remembers how to do this, and an even bigger part of him doubts he can handle all that cock without warming himself up first, but this is what he wants, and he bets it’s what his husband needs, even if Peter doesn’t know it yet. Slow strokes are given to Peter’s cock with his hand behind his back, and then Tony lowers his upper body to drape himself over Peter’s chest, a hand pressing to the bed as big, dark eyes stare at the other man’s face. What could he do to make this moment better? Oh, he’s got it.

 

“Mr. Stark?” he asks softly, “Can I ride your cock?”

 

Peter’s eyes flash open, and his mouth falls open, because with his eyes closed and his attention on the strokes being given to his cock, he hadn’t quite noticed anything else. Now, he realizes that he has Tony draped across him, asking to ride his cock. His mouth works slowly, without sounds, and then he clears his throat and tries again. “Are you sure, Tony? You really want that?” he asks in a strangled voice, sure this is some sort of fever dream.

 

Uncertainty clouds those big, dark eyes. His hand slows on Peter’s cock, but doesn’t quite stop, and that stupid flush comes up again. For a moment there, he thinks, maybe, it was a dumb thing to ask, but then he reminds himself that he’s dealing with a man that maybe hasn’t experienced much in that department yet, not even with MJ, so the shock isn’t necessarily a reflection on Tony. He wets soft lips, then nods, his hand moving faster on Peter’s cock. “Yes, Mr. Stark. I’m sure,” is breathed out.

 

Be Mr. Stark. Be Mr. Stark. Don’t say anything embarrassing. “ _ Please _ ,” Peter rasps out, his voice thick with emotion, because he’d never dared to dream that Tony might someday want  _ him _ like this. So much for not embarrassing himself. He cups Tony’s jaw, and raises his head to give him a desperate, needy kiss. “I love you, Tony.”

 

“I love you, Peter Stark,” Tony says solemnly after their kiss, then he’s lifting himself up on strong thighs, and lining Peter’s cock up with the entrance of his ass. He sinks down slowly, and that tight ass resists the penetration, though Tony does try to push past the thick band of muscle to impale himself on the man’s thick cock. He starts to pant from the effort, and then he sinks down a sudden inch and a half, taking the head of Peter’s cock into his ass. “Oh God,” he croaks out, before leaving lips parted to just pant.

 

Peter yelps a little, when his head is enveloped by the tightness of Tony’s ass. He’d been about to ask the other man to wait, to let him help, and it occurs to him that just because he’s managed to take in this bit of him doesn’t mean he’s okay. “Wait, Tony,” he coaxes softly, his hand stroking the man’s hair above the ear. “Let me help you. The way you helped me the first time. I want this to be good for you.”

 

“But I want it  _ now _ ,” Tony breathes out, a little impressed by how slutty he sounds. He inhales sharply, and then sinks down another inch, the thick head of that cock pushing into his prostate. It’s like an explosion of confusing sensations happens in his skull in that moment, the pain draining the blood from his face, then making it flush with the pleasure of that cock hitting his prostate and just  _ filling him _ . “It’s. It’s definitely not bad-” Tony struggles with words. “I just-” he begins another sentence, and then he’s sinking down another inch, a whine escaping his throat before he can stop it.

 

“Fuck, Tony,” Peter sounds like a man lost, almost delirious with how good it feels to be inside Tony. He’s half buried, and his hand is shaky as it reaches forward to stroke Tony’s cock, giving him something that just feels  _ good _ to concentrate on. “I’ve never felt anything like this. You’re like my own personal miracle.”

 

Tony bites down on his lower lip, bucking his hips into that hand that strokes him, then making a muffled sound as the backswing of each buck of his hips has him taking more cock. Soon enough he’s buried Peter’s cock in his ass, and he’s whimpering softly, hips giving small ticking motions to push his cock against the other man’s stroking hand.

 

Pushing up on the palm of the hand that isn’t stroking Tony’s cock, Peter kisses him deeply. “You did it. You took all of it. I’m completely buried inside you, Tony,” he says in a soft voice fed, directly into Tony’s ear. “And when you’re ready, you’re going to ride me until we both come.” His hand speeds up on the other man’s cock, giving him more pleasure, trying to push him closer, because he knows he isn’t going to last, once Tony starts moving in earnest.

 

Quick, say something slutty. Tony considers what that might be, really wanting to do a great job here, being a perfectionist and all. He swallows hard, a tremble moving through him as he leans in to brush his lips against Peter’s ear, and asks in a soft voice, “Am I a good boy, Mr. Stark?” Ha, nailed it.

 

“Yes, Tony,” Peter says in a tight voice. Because he  _ was  _ feeling romantic and now Tony has him ready to fuck him into submission. He stops holding himself up on his palm, relying on strong abdominals to keep him upright, and grips Tony’s hip, pulling it down while he arches his hips up into the other man. “Don’t you feel like a good boy when you ride my cock?”

 

“Oh  _ God _ !” Tony gasps out as Peter pulls him down and thrusts up at the same time. “Yes, Mr. Stark. I feel like a good boy when I ride your cock,” he manages thickly. That big, thick cock is buried so fucking deep inside him. Tentative hips lift an inch, then sink back down, a heavy breath parting soft lips when he does it. “I want to feel you lose control again, Mr. Stark,” he roughly whispers, lifting an inch, then sinking down fully again. “Like you did with my throat.”

 

Peter snarls, and grips Tony’s hips with both hands, letting go of the careful control he’d been holding onto. His hips thrust up again and again, forcing Tony into a rough ride on his cock making him bounce over his shaft. Suddenly, he turns them neatly, so that Tony is pressed into the mattress with Peter pounding into him. He grips the other man’s hands, pressing them into the pillow above his head while he keeps going. “Say my name, Tony,” he snarls out, needing to hear it again.

 

“Mr. Stark!” Tony gasps out, trying to catch his breath as he’s pounded into, and failing. Wide, dark eyes stare into Peter’s face, and he tries a token movement to free his hands, gently pushing up against the grip, just for the satisfaction of feeling them pushed down harder. He wets soft lips, then plants his feet on the mattress, swinging his hips into motion to accentuate the pounding of his ass. That’s about when a switch clicks, and everything feels  _ good _ , instead of sharing that pleasure with pain. His eyes fill with that pleasure, and his hips start bucking upward into Peter’s cock in earnest until he’s coming hard all over his abdominal muscles with a loud moan.

 

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Peter growls out, biting down on his lips to keep his focus enough to fuck Tony through his orgasm. When he sees the man start to come down, he lets himself go, his own hips bucking into Tony’s ass, filling him with his cum with a shout. He continues to thrust until he can’t breathe from how good everything feels, and then he slows to a stop, staring hard down into Tony’s eyes. Awe is plain on his face as he gathers his husband up into his arms, cradling him against his chest, his cock slipping free as they roll over onto Peter’s back. 

 

“Before, I thought we’d had the best sex I’d ever had,” Tony’s mumbling deliriously. “It was a tie between the first time, and the time with the Spider Maid outfit.” He chuckles a little, snuggling against Peter. “But now, now I know  _ this _ time was the best sex I’ve ever had. It was like all the best parts of all the worlds.”

 

Peter chuckles a little at Tony’s delirious babble. “So, maybe you’ll want to do that again sometime?” he asks hopefully as he kisses his temple. “ _ I’d _ like to do that again. I want to do everything with you, Tony Stark.”

 

“Definitely,” Tony rumbles, lifting his head heavily to stare down into dark eyes. “Everything.” He lowers his head, kissing him softly. “For example. You need the pleasure of fucking my throat until I’m swallowing your cum. It’s the best, in my humble opinion.” He kisses him again.

 

“I’m just picturing all the different ways we could make love, now. Taking turns, one of us going until we’re ready to die, then the other one going... And switching a few times. We could make a goal of doing it all night long.” Peter grins up at the other man. “We could never stop.”

 

“Good idea,” Tony says tightly. Maybe it’s this new, young body, but the talking has his cock pressing to his abdominals again, and his knees shifting to be between Peter’s thighs. He kisses him hard, strong hands spreading Peter’s knees, before he’s grabbing the lube and smearing it all over his own cock. He lines the head up with Peter’s ass, and sinks inside him with a hiss. That tight ass is still filled with his cum from last time, acting as additional lubrication.

 

And so it goes on, the young men taking turns making love to one another, whoever happens to have the most energy after each round taking up the more dominant position next. They keep it up into the early hours of dawn, the sun filtering in through the curtains, and birds singing outside. They’re tired, and it’s Tony on top again, barely moving inside Peter, sweat covering both their bodies. He muffles a big yawn, and then peers at Peter, realizing the other man has fallen asleep. It makes him laugh very quietly, before he’s gingerly pulling out, and curling his body against Peter’s side, an arm looped around his torso.

 

Could any two people love each other more than Tony and Peter love one another? Tony contemplates that question as he falls asleep, and for the life of him, he can't see how.

 

**A/N: Thanks for sticking it out through the angst of this chapter. I hope we didn't lose too many of you when Tony became young again! It's a big adjustment for both men, so I can't promise no more angst, but we will be returning you to your regularly scheduled fluff, too. Thanks again to each of you who've left us a review. It means the world to us, and we look forward to more!**


	7. Chapter 7

 

Steve and Natasha wait a week before dropping in on the Misters Stark, only to find them fighting. Not bickering, but fighting shoulder-to-shoulder against a handful of Tony’s AI driven suits. The pair swirl around one another, in a blur of blue and red and gold, firing off webbing and hand cannon blasts like it’s a choreographed routine. There’s no audible conversation between the two, so they must have earpieces that allow them to communicate without shouting over the din of exploding tech.

 

When the ‘threat’ has been neutralized, Peter pulls of his mask, while Tony lands and taps the button that rolls his suit back into almost nothing, revealing jeans and a t-shirt beneath the uniform.  Natasha takes an involuntary step back when she sees the youthful Tony, even though she’s seen it before. It’s just crazy to think about. It’s basically immortality, should this man choose to use it that way.

 

And let’s be honest; it’s Tony Stark. The odds of him growing old and dying gracefully are practically nil.

 

“Looking good!” Steve calls out in a friendly voice, trying to smooth things over between them and the wayward Avenger. “Have you guys been practicing?”

 

Tony crosses his arms over his chest, and stares at Steve for a long moment. Deciding to ignore his question, and his attempt to be friendly, he steps closer to Nat, instead. “Did I scare you, Natasha?” he asks, looking amused. He drops his arms and tucks his thumbs in his jean pockets, looking back at Peter, then deciding to not ignore Steve’s question after all. “Yeah, we’re just Team Stark, doing our usual thing. How have you guys been?”

 

“Worried about you, but we figured no news was good news,” Steve says easily, his own arms crossing over his chest while Natasha looks on warily. “It’s not every day your friend manages to reverse age himself thirty years, so Hallmark didn’t have a card.”

 

“Mr. Stark’s a genius. The odds of that not going the way he wanted were practically non-existent,” Peter scoffs, even though he’s lost sleep worrying about what  _ might _ have been. Still, he’s not going to say that to these guys. Especially not when they’re right.

 

“Are you two here to piss me off, or check on me? Because I’m good. I’m  _ great _ , in fact,” Tony tells the Avengers pair, back to crossing his arms over his chest. What would they have even done if things weren’t going great? Stand over his body and gloat at Peter?

 

“We’re here to make you an offer, Tony,” Natasha speaks for the first time since she’d seen Tony’s face. Her voice is steady, and she seems to have recovered from that moment of uncertainty when she’d seen him.

 

Tony takes in an audible breath through his nose, chin lifting slightly. “I’m listening.”

 

“We’re splitting the team into halves. We want both of you, but for team safety, you won’t be on the same team. Neither will Wanda and Viz or any future members who are in relationships that may cloud their judgement,” she tells him like she’s offering him the moon. She already knows how he’s going to take the news, but Steve is sure he’ll see reason.

 

“This keeps either of you from having to choose the team or your husband,” Steve tries to explain further. “Because I don’t think either of you would be the same, if you had to make that call.”

 

“So which team are you on, Nat? The team with basically no one else on it?” Tony asks, then seems to think about it. “Wait, no, you could be on my team. You never did make it around to me.” Then he’s pointing at Steve, while Natasha glowers, “So let me get this straight. If a Big Bad like Thanos comes around again, we flip a coin on who goes to save the world? While the rest of us twiddle our thumbs?”

 

“The plan is to use both teams, when necessary, but, Tony... There’s been such an uptick in missions that I don’t think anybody’s going to be twiddling their thumbs. There’s enough work to support two teams, and we have the numbers now to make that a reality. This isn’t just about you,” Steve’s voice is on edge, but so far he’s keeping his cool. They need Tony. Hell, they  _ want _ him, even if he doesn’t play well with others.

 

“You know what? I’m tired of being talked about like I’m chopped liver. Some dead weight you have to take on to keep Iron Man,” Peter’s voice is pleasant, but his body is tense, like he might be about to spring. “I don’t deserve that. I was set to be an Avenger by now, if I hadn’t fallen in love with Tony, and there weren’t any strings attached. I just want to know why I suddenly became this worthless  _ thing _ when I fell in love. I’m still a genius who made tech in my bedroom that impressed Tony Stark when I was fifteen. I’m still Spider Man. Who the hell are you to treat me like anything less?”

 

“Okay, time for Fossil and Jane Bond to get the fuck out of Stark Tower,” Tony says, sensing that his husband might be about to kick some ass. It’d be a well deserved ass kicking, but they’d probably ruin half of New York in the process. “Was great catching up,” he says, ushering the pair toward the door. “Really. Drop by anytime you want to be insulted. Goodbye.”

 

“No!” Peter steps forward, with all the cocky swagger of a young man raised in Queens. “I want to know. Why am I suddenly dead weight?”

 

“You’re not dead weight,” Natasha tells him coldly. “But compared to Iron Man, you’re a second rate hero. We don’t  _ need _ you. We  _ need _ Tony.”

 

“Nat!” Steve says sharply, shocked by her words. For him, it really has all been about team safety but he’s guessing security will be taking their badges that give them pretty much unlimited access to the Tower, after this.

 

“What you need, is a Snickers bar, Nat,” Tony says, giving her shoulder a pat and a squeeze. “And maybe another trip to Budapest.” The man plucks her badge, then snags Steve’s too, just to make sure it gets done. Sure, they could just sneak in with badges from other Avengers, but Tony will get them all eventually. It’ll be like collecting baseball cards. Then he’s pressing the elevator button for them, motioning them inside, and waving as the doors close.

 

Tony waits a moment, playing with the badges absently as he watches his husband. “They’re full of bullshit. You know that, right, Peter?” he asks the younger man, tossing the badges aside and stepping closer to him.

 

“Nat was telling the truth,” Peter says, his body still tense, even as he goes to their gym bags and reaches for a towel to wipe his face with. The suit wicks moisture, so he’s comfortable from the neck down, but without the mask he needs the towel. He throws it to the side, then takes up his bottle of whatever it is Tony makes him drink post workout, gulping at the contents.

 

“If Nat always told the truth, Mrs. Barton would have shoved a knife between her ribs by now,” Tony says logically, his gaze getting a little hazy as he watches Peter drink. How can any one man be that sexy? Then an idea to comes to him, and he’s kneeling, going about taking off his shoes and socks. “Wanna spar? Some hand to hand? We’ve never tried it before.” He sniffs. “I bet I could hold my own against you, now that I don’t have a foot in the grave.”

 

“What? Like for points?” Peter says, the idea breaking his anger to leave him puzzled. “I’ve never done anything like that before Mr. Stark. I’ve only ever, you know,  _ fought _ ,” he explains, even as he starts to work his way out of his suit. He’s got shorts and a t-shirt in his bag to change into, though, so he supposes he could try it, if it’s what Tony really wants to do.

 

“I would say for points, but I don’t know how to keep score, so let’s just see who taps out first,” Tony says cheerfully, staring as Peter undresses. “No cheating. You’re cheating right now. Stop being hot and naked.” He laughs, and tosses Peter that change of clothes. Then he pulls off his jeans, leaving him in boxers and that t-shirt. There. That’s more comfortable.

 

“Says the man who decided to fight in his  _ underwear _ ,” Peter grumbles under his breath as he pulls his shorts on, leaving his shirt off to level the playing field. Once he’s ready, he drops into a defensive stance and waits for Tony to come at him.

 

Tony shakes his head at that toplessness, and tries to focus, raking his gaze down the other man’s body. Then he focuses on the base of Peter’s throat, so he can see the full range of the other man’s movements, before he charges forward, aiming to tackle him.

 

“Down, Feisty,” Peter says, stepping easily to the side, so that Tony just rushes right past him. He almost lashes out with a back kick, but he still hasn’t quite resigned himself to fighting his husband, so he lets it go for now. Instead, he pivots on the ball of his foot, to keep Tony in front of him and waits for the man to come at him again.

 

This time, after Tony skids to a stop and turns around, he pads over slowly toward Peter. “You’re very fast,” he says solemnly, stopping a few inches from him, gaze flicking to his lips, then to his eyes. Moving very cautiously, he lifts a hand, extends a finger, and gently taps the end of Peter’s nose with it. “But I booped your snoot,” he says just as seriously.

 

“I think that’s probably worth a point,” Peter acknowledges with a cringe. He’s supposed to be fighting, not staring at his husband staring at him.

 

Tony takes half a step closer, then, just for science, to test Peter’s balance, his hands come up, and give the other man’s shoulders a hard shove. In the same motion, he hooks a foot behind Peter’s ankle, so he can try sweeping his legs.

 

“Whoa!” Peter exclaims as he tumbles to the ground, rolling easily to land on his feet, just a few steps back. “That wasn’t very nice, Mr. Stark. You were booping my snoot!”

 

“Never trust a snoot booper,” Tony says, suppressing a smile. He stalks closer, his head tilting as he looks at the other man. “Come on, Peter. Show me what you got.” Then something dark flashes across his eyes, and he says quietly, “I bet you could make me feel  _ helpless _ .”

 

“I’m really confused right now, because you’re mouth is saying  _ fight _ but your body’s saying  _ sex _ and I don’t know how I feel about mixing those two things, Mr. Stark,” Peter babbles, regressing to his younger tendencies. “Are you really sure you want me to  _ attack  _ you?”

 

Tony keeps stalking closer, until they’re eye to eye again. “Are you going to make me have to boop your snoot again? Let’s go, Underoos.”

 

Peter’s body uncoils, and he leaps upward, turning in the air to lay a leg across Tony’s chest and another across his throat, with his arm extended between the two. The forward momentum takes them both to the mats on their backs, and Peter applies pressure to the joint in an arm bar that threatens Tony’s elbow. “I saw this once on UFC, and I always wanted to try it!” he says, excited. “It was one of the old ones with some guy named Gracie.”

 

“Holy-” Tony barks out when Peter goes flying in the air in front of him, which is especially impressive at such close range. And then he’s on the mat, with his arm trapped, and oh fuck his elbow. As Peter babbles, more and more pressure is applied to Tony’s elbow, until the man is rapidly tapping out, patting Peter’s leg with his free hand.

 

Peter lets go of his arm instantly and slides backward across the matt, until he can kip up to his feet. Then he holds out a hand to help Tony up, as well. “That was fun, right? You want to go again?”

 

“Definitely,” Tony says, because there’s method behind his current madness. He wets his lips after he’s helped up, and readies himself for the next acrobatic feat his husband is going to pull off.

 

He’s surprised when, instead of acrobatics, a punch flies toward his face, the fist flashing almost faster than he can see it. Tony jumps back, that fist barely grazing his cheek, and then he’s pointing at Peter. “Hey. You break it, you buy it. Not the face.”

 

“Luckily, I have half of your money. That ought to at least be a down payment,” Peter says, starting to feel a little cocky. He throws another punch, this one aimed for the solar plexus, and combos it with a kick to the knee.

 

Tony throws an open handed block and grabs the wrist, while he steps out of the way of the kick to his knee. “I also like my knees,” he says quickly, pulling the other man tightly to him. Then he’s going for another leg sweep, and following Peter down this time, still holding onto that arm so Peter can’t just roll away and pop back up like a daisy.

 

Peter falls straight back with a grunt as he hits the mat, then Tony’s atop him, straddling him in a mount and he’s not really all that concerned with how the fight is going to go any more. He reaches for the back of Tony’s neck, dragging him down for a hard kiss and arches his hips upward. “This is me tapping out.”

 

“You’re better than me, Peter Stark,” Tony tells him vehemently after the kiss is broken. “You’re smarter. You’re faster. You’re every bit the super hero Iron Man is. You wanna know what I think? I think Nat just said that bullshit about you to piss me the fuck off, because you’re basically my only weakness.”

 

“I’m smart, but I’m not smarter. It never even would have occured to me to  _ try _ that time thing, let alone figured out how to do it. In three weeks,” he says, his own voice just as vehement. “But now, we have this whole life. And screw the Avengers. If you’re done with them, then so am I. We’ll be Team Stark, saving the world together.”

 

“Fuck those Avengers. I’m definitely done with them. You’re my Goddamned hero, Peter. Nobody talks about my hero like they did,” Tony mutters slowly this time, lowering himself a fraction more to brush his lips along Peter’s slowly.

 

Peter groans as his tender lips are brushed by Tony’s wide, sensuous mouth. “Do you think we should go back to the penthouse for this, or just trust that nobody’ll come looking for us in the next hour or so?” he rumbles out, his hands moving across Tony’s body to feel the hard ridges of bone and muscle.

 

“I didn’t have the foresight to bring lube with us, so we should probably go back to the penthouse,” Tony mumbles, before bowing his head to ply an open mouthed kiss to the side of Peter’s neck. “Not going to lie, the thought of someone catching us making love sounds kind of hot. Unless it was Happy.”

 

“Happy would never recover. He’d forever avert his eyes when he saw us and just mumble under his breath,” Peter points out, his brain power slipping as Tony plies that kiss to his neck. “We should go, while I can still remember the way,” he groans out, hips arching again.

 

Tony takes a sharp breath, then jumps up, and offering a hand to Peter to help him up as well. Then they’re grabbing their stuff, getting their shoes on, and heading to the elevator. Three minutes later, they’re in the penthouse, and Tony is stripping as he strides to the bed and falls into it, naked by the time his back hits the mattress. He tilts his head, watching his husband as he slides into bed with his head resting against one of the pillows. “You look older today. You have since I got younger, actually. Do you feel older?”

 

“Yeah,” he says quietly, letting his head lay across the pillow. He slides his cheek against the linen and closes his eyes. “Yeah, I feel older than I used to.” Peter draws a deep breath and opens his eyes, placing a palm on the other side of Tony’s head, moving over his upper body, so that he can dip his head and press a kiss to his lips.

 

“Maybe I made you feel young, when I was older,” Tony says solemnly, before parting his lips for the kiss, and pushing his tongue into Peter’s mouth for a deep taste. When the kiss breaks, he whispers across Peter’s lips, “Now you make me feel young. It feels  _ good _ .”

 

“I want to make you feel good, Tony,” Peter whispers back, sucking on his lower lip, then giving it a little nip. “I want to make you feel every kind of good there is,” eager hands reach for Tony’s skin, tracing paths along his chest that he follows with his mouth. When his lips brush against a little nipple, he sucks it between his lips and teases the little point with his teeth before letting it go and playing with the other. While he sucks on that second nipple, his hands wander lower, to Tony’s hips, gripping them, then working around to squeeze his ass.

 

Now that Tony identifies more as a switch in bed, instead of always on top or always dominant, he never knows what they might get up to, when they get ready to have sex. Sharp breaths are pulled in when his nipples are sucked to hard little points, and then, when hands grab his ass, he suspects he knows about where this is going. “You make me feel so fucking good, Mr. Stark,” Tony rasps out, arching his ass into those hands. His own hands greedily reach for Peter’s shoulders and squeeze them, then push up through his hair, clenching in the strands.

 

Peter, perhaps surprisingly, keeps kissing his way lower, until he’s able to suck Tony’s cock between his lips, sliding down to the base in one slow slide. His hands keep palming the cheeks of Tony’s ass, and his finger brushes at the cleft while he begins to bob his head. As soon as Tony’s cock invades his throat, his mouth floods with saliva that he’s not able to contain behind the seal of his lips. The thick liquid drips down his shaft to coat his balls, making a mess of the close-cropped curls that surround his cock.

 

“This is-” Tony blinks hard up at the ceiling as his brain is torn into two different modes. “Confusing. But I  _ like _ it,” he decides hoarsely, cock throbbing hard in Peter’s throat. Precum wells at the tip of his erection, just to mix with Peter’s saliva. An arm curls beneath Tony’s head so he can watch Peter and see better, his other hand smoothing through his husband’s hair, ass clenching tightly.

 

Peter hums around his cock, then withdraws his finger to scoop up some of the pooling saliva beneath his lips. Once his finger is wet, he returns it to the cleft of Tony’s ass, the digit sliding easily between the clenched cheeks to graze his opening. He paints it with the spit on his finger, then begins to push into his husband, speeding the bobs of his head over his cock in time with the penetration.

 

A knee comes up slowly, so Tony can spread his ass a little bit more for Peter’s penetrating finger. Tony lets out a pant as that single finger buries deep, his cock aching inside his husband’s mouth and throat. He’s never felt submissive during a blowjob before, but right now? He’s just sinking deeper and deeper into that headspace. “You’re so good at making me happy,” he croaks out, hands fisting in the sheets.

 

Peter groans around Tony’s cock, partly to answer him and partly because he just tastes fucking  _ good _ . He tries to keep his mind, at least a corner of it, on the hand that he’s using to push Tony deeper and deeper into that subspace, the pad of his digit massaging his prostate with each thrust. He speeds his thrusts to match the bobs of his head, and ramps up the pressure of his mouth, until his cheeks hollow around Tony’s length.

 

The attention has Tony whimpering very, very softly, like he’s ashamed of the quiet sounds and is trying to hush himself, but he just can’t help them escaping. Tiny movements of his hips begin, pushing upward into Peter’s mouth, and rocking down onto Peter’s penetrating finger. His eyes are closed, and his breathing is heavy, trying to keep control of himself as he pulls at the sheets with both hands.

 

And then he loses that control with the increased pressure of Peter’s mouth, a hand letting go of the sheets to offer his own arm up to his mouth, biting down on the muscle there to muffle his sounds as he comes hard, straight down Peter’s throat and into his mouth. His hips give tiny bucks for each shot of cum, his ass clenching and relaxing, over and over again, around the finger milking his prostate.

 

While the first shot of cum goes down Peter’s throat, he catches the rest in his mouth, holding it there. When Tony’s finally done coming, he sits up on his knees and opens his mouth, speaking carefully around his mouth load. “Look what you did to me,” he says, the words thick but intelligible as he shows him the cum sitting on his tongue. His own cock is hard, pressed to his stomach, but he wants to show this off to Tony before he does anything else.

 

Tony sits up suddenly, with all the power of his youth behind him, and leans in close, staring into Peter’s eyes. His chest rises and falls visibly, and then his gaze lowers to that cum covered tongue. “Swallow it.”

 

Peter closes his mouth slowly, and does as he is bidden, then opens it to show off his clean tongue. “Like this, Mr. Stark?” he murmurs quietly, waiting for a sign of approval.

 

“Yeah, just like that, Peter,” Tony rumbles, before giving Peter a soft kiss of approval. “I have an idea,” he says next, before going to the nightstand on Peter’s side of the bed. He grabs one of the two webslinger bracelets are inside the drawer, putting it on. He shows Peter what he’s got, so there’s no surprises, and then he shoots a line of web up to the ceiling. He shoots a second line of web beside it, about a foot and a half apart from the first line, then nods to the ropes of web hanging from the ceiling. “Grab those while sitting up on your knees.”

 

Peter walks on his knees to the two ropes of his webbing and grabs on like he’s been told to do. He can’t help but put a little pressure on the strands, knowing they can take it, to make his muscles flex and stand out. He wants Tony to enjoy what he sees, after all.

 

“Quick question. You’ve got the solvent for this stuff somewhere in this room, right? Or, if not, where do you keep it again? You keep moving it from the designated spot,” Tony says, giving Peter an appreciative stare for that muscle flexing.

 

“Yeah, Mr. Stark. I think it’s in my closet. I got some on my jacket the other day in the R&D lab and forgot to put it away,” Peter babbles a little bit, wondering what might be coming next. Sure he can guess, but that’s less fun than anticipating.

 

“Going to go check, so I don’t have any issues,” Tony says, climbing out of bed. He finds the solvent, and puts it on the nightstand, pausing to stare at Peter. “What… are you doing?”

 

“Just... hanging around,” he replies with a grin in his voice, hanging upside down from the strands, and balancing with his feet against the webs. Without letting go, he lowers himself back to his knees and clears his throat. “Sorry, Mr. Stark. Won’t happen again.”

 

“I swear, the things you do are seriously impressive,” Tony blurts out, before shooting a ball of webbing over each hand, attaching them to the webbing they’re gripping. He looks pretty pleased with himself, then gets onto the bed, and kneels in front of Peter. “Just… one more thing,” he says quietly, before holding a hand up protectively over Peter’s nose, then shooting more webbing, this time over Peter’s lips. He moves his hand away from his nose, tracing a line around that sealed mouth with a fingertip. “There.”

 

“ _ What the hell, Mr. Stark _ ?” Peter says behind the webbing, but it come out as, “Mmf mm Mmfm  MfMf Fmmf?” Dark eyes glint above his webbed mouth, but he’s playing along, wondering where all this is going. Using his own webs against him. Peter’s pissed he didn’t think of it first.

 

Tony grins at him as he tries to speak, then grabs the lube. He takes the web slinger bracelet off and puts it back where he found it, then moves behind Peter, lubing up his own cock. “I’ve caught a spider in his own web,” he brags, his free hand smoothing up Peter’s spine, sliding into his hair, and yanking it back, so he can mutter into his ear. “And, for once, I don’t think you could get out of this situation, even if you wanted to.” As he speaks, he drags the wet head of his cock down the cleft of Peter’s ass.

 

More muffled grumbling meets Tony’s words, while his mind races to figure out if he  _ could _ get out of the situation. The short answer is no. He could fight, maybe even fight Tony back for long enough for the webs to weaken in an hour or so. But, short of that, he’s well and truly caught. Part of him is pissed at himself for getting into this situation, but another part of him is trying to coax him down, to remind him that Tony means this to be fun.

 

The continued grumbling, instead of the prettier sounds Tony hoped for signals the older man that maybe he fucked up. Also, Peter’s very tense, and those eyes, they’d glinted with anger. The fingers in Peter’s hair gentle, and slide down the younger man’s back, Tony no longer trying to put his cock anywhere in particular. “The mouth gagging, that was the part I went too far with, huh?” he asks, moving around Peter to better have a conversation. He reaches for the solvent, and starts applying it to Peter’s lips and the surrounding area. “Or was it the whole thing?”

 

It take a minute for the solvent to eat its way through the webbing, but Peter starts talking while he’s still gagged. At least the sounds are mumbles, versus the previous grumbles. “...I just felt like I’d let my guard down, and I’m not supposed to do that, because I’m Spider Man,” he continues, as the webbing falls away from his lips. “It’s like, I totally trust you, but when I couldn’t move or talk or anything I didn’t trust myself anymore.”

 

Tony doesn’t get it, but he doesn’t have to. “I should have talked to you about it first. Surprises in the bedroom are fun, until they’re not,” Tony says, reaching to smooth the solvent on Peter’s hands next.

 

“It’s okay, Mr. Stark,” Peter’s quick to say, when Tony starts to go for his hands. “I’m feeling better about things now, and it’d be a shame to waste the web fluid, right?” he asks, leaning in for a short kiss. “I mean, if I didn’t mess up the mood or whatever. Maybe we could try this with an actual gag sometime. It was kind of hot, except for the fight or flight response.”

 

The lid is screwed back on the solvent, and set back down on the nightstand. Tony’s mood is a little shot, but to be fair, he supposes he’s done the same to Peter’s. However, he can fix it fast enough, he hopes, a hand carding fingers into Peter’s hair, and Tony leaning in for a slow, deep kiss. As he does that, he reaches for Peter’s cock and gives it slow strokes, thumb rolling over the head to smear at the slit.

 

Peter groans deeply into Tony’s mouth, his hands struggling to reach for his husband, before he remembers he’s not reaching for anything for a while. His cock throbs with every stroke of Tony’s tongue against his and he pants for air when the other man finally raises his head. “Fuck, Mr. Stark. That was a really great kiss,” he breathes out.

 

Tony really likes feeling the other man struggle. It directs blood back to his cock, making it hard again, and the deep kiss helps keep it that way. He gives a tiny kiss to panting lips after Peter finishes speaking, still stroking his husband’s cock slowly. When he releases Peter’s cock, it’s to guide his thighs to spread, before he lifts his husband by the hips, and shifts so Peter is sitting over his lap. He considers the position a moment, then shifts again, stretching out languidly on the bed, his back hitting the mattress and his legs straightening, leaving Peter to somewhat straddle his stomach. His hand slides up a strong thigh, until he’s reaching for Peter’s cock again, and giving it very slow strokes, his other arm curling under his head as he watches his husband’s eyes.

 

Brown eyes are heated as they stare down at Tony’s. His hips slide forward, into the hand stroking his cock, and he gives himself a minute to just enjoy the sensation of it while he looks into Tony’s eyes. Finally, things start to feel a little too good and he murmurs, “Uh, Mr. Stark. I’m gonna need some help, if you want me to ride your cock,” he says, a blush covering his body with the words.

 

“You’re doing great, doing exactly what you’re doing,” Tony assures him, his voice thick as he takes in that full body blush Peter does. His hand slides upward slowly, and pauses around the head of Peter’s cock, thumb smoothing along the slit, before the gradual downward stroke that follows. It seems to get more slow with each passing minute, Tony not taking his eyes off Peter’s.

 

Groan after groan is torn from Peter’s throat, as Tony strokes and slows his hand on his cock. Precum wells at the tip, leaking down the curved dome of his head, but he keeps his hips still, feeling like Tony might not like it if he ruined this slow, fantastically torturous hand job by bucking his hips until he comes. “This feels really good, Mr. Stark,” Peter whimpers out, pulling on the webbing, this time because he  _ needs _ to take his cock in hand and stroke it until he comes.

 

There’s something so beautiful about the way Peter simply exists on a day to day basis, but right now? He’s extraordinary. Tony can’t take his eyes off his husband, his thumb coming up to smear at the precum that keeps leaking out of his cock, stroking the liquid into the shaft. After a moment of getting that precum good and rubbed into the skin, he slides so his face is beneath Peter’s balls, one of which he collects with his lips and gives a slow suck to. They feel tight, showing off how badly his husband wants to come, which Tony finds he likes a lot. He rolls his tongue against the heavy testicle, then lets it go with an audible ‘pop,’ before sucking the other one into his mouth. All this is done while lightly holding the head of Peter’s cock, hand keeping still.

 

Peter’s eyes roll and his head hangs forward, his upper body almost limp and held up by the webbing that coats his hands. He moans loudly, his hips trembling, the muscles twitching with suppressed motion, but he remains still for the slow torture of his husband’s mouth on his balls. “Tony...” he whispers softly as precum continues to leak from the head of his cock. “Mr. Stark... I need you to let me come,” he begs. “Please.”

 

“Do you think you could come like this, or are you asking for something more?” Tony asks for clarification, his hand shifting a little so his thumb ticks slow strokes over the leaking slit of Peter’s cock. Dark eyes take in the trembling of his husband, and his tongue extends, lapping at the seam between Peter’s testicles.

 

“I could come like this,” he breathes out, as Tony laps at the skin of his testicles, which is tight and getting tighter. “Or, I could come with you inside me. We could both come,” he invites, opening his eyes to stare down his body at what Tony’s doing. “I’m at your mercy.”

 

Tony seems to think about that for a few seconds, thumb rotating over the head of Peter’s cock. “I think, given my current position, and clarity of mind, I’m perfectly situated to fully enjoy driving you crazy. If I were inside you as you came, I’d be losing my mind, too, and right now, I’m really enjoying studying you,” he explains, so Peter doesn’t think he’s just throwing away an invitation like that without a reason. “But, I’m thinking after you do come, I’m going to need some kind of relief. My stomach is a mess from precum,” he mutters, kissing Peter’s testicles a soft kiss after, before he releases Peter’s cock and slides out from under him. He sits up on his knees in front of his husband, grabs his cock again, and gives it slow strokes once more. “Come for me, Peter Stark,” he coaxes, before sealing his mouth over his husband’s in a deep kiss.

 

Peter’s surrender to his orgasm is peaceful almost serene. He tenses all over, then the tension melts away as he draws a sharp breath and his cock begins to weep cum all over Tony’s hand. A tremble runs through his body as his tight balls just keep pushing more and more of his seed to coat the skin of his husband’s fingers. It feels like it’ll never end, and when his body does, finally, stop, there’s an absolute river of cum that he’s released. He pants heavily, as the chemicals flood his brain, making him feel better than he ever has before. “Fuck. That was just...” he trails off with a tired hum.

 

“So much cum…” Tony breathes out, really fucking impressed. It’s messy all over his hand, and down his wrist, a line of it having gone down Peter’s balls and inner thigh to puddle on the bed. “Look at what you did to my hand,” he bites out in an excited tone, lifting that hand for Peter to better see it, spreading his fingers, sticky fluid like lines between them. Then he lowers that hand, and smears the cum on his cock, stroking it slowly as his other hand fists in Peter’s hair, forehead bowing to his in their eye contact.

 

Peter is limp, so the hand fisting in his hair also holds his head in place, where he slumps, bonelessly. “Are you going to fuck me with that now, sir?” He asks tiredly, his cock softening slowly from coming so hard. “I think you’ve earned fucking your little toy, however you want.”

 

Tony listens intently, taking in the dirty talk that excites him even more. A part of him, a big part of him, really, thinks about how hot it would be to fuck Peter’s limp body until he’s emptying his cum inside him. But there’s a small, nagging section of his brain that points out how tired Peter is, and how he already fucked up earlier by springing BDSM on his husband without discussing it first. So with considerable effort, he stops his hand on his cock, releasing it so it presses tightly to his own abdominals. “I think I’m going to get you down from the webbing, and we’ll see where it goes from there,” he says, murmurs, ignoring his cock in favor of getting the solvent again, and applying it to Peter’s hands.

 

As his hands break free from the webs, Peter falls forward. “I don’t know why I’m this tired. Usually I’m good for a few rounds,” he babbles a little. “Just something about that... it feels like you took my soul with you when you made me come.”

 

“I’ll keep it safe for you,” Tony says quietly, going about getting a towel from the nightstand, and cleaning up a bit, since there was so much cum. He even gives the wet spot on the bed a bit of a scrub, before deciding they’ll just avoid it. Then he’s resting on his back, and pulling Peter into an embrace, fingers sliding into his hair gently.

 

“You need to come again,” Peter says softly, his hand twitching toward Tony’s cock. It takes him a second try to make it but finally long fingers wrap around the heated flesh that’s a little sticky with his cum, and begin to stroke. “And I need you to have what you need, Mr. Stark.”

 

“I’ve found that if I ignore an erection for long enough, it eventually goes away,” Tony says tightly as Peter starts to stroke him. He lets out a heavy breath, cock throbbing hard in the younger man’s hand. Fingers in his hair tighten, but he doesn’t try to stop Peter, because, hell, he really wants to come.

 

“Ignoring your erections is kind of the opposite of my job,” Peter points out, raising his head to kiss Tony while he keeps stroking. He speeds his hand, stroking as fast as he’s able, while he opens his mouth to let his tongue push into Tony’s. Within moments, the tired man is breathing heavily, but his hand speeds on, determined to make his husband come.

 

First, Tony slowly turns them, so Peter is on his back and Tony is shifting to kneel beside him. He wraps his hand around the one jerking his cock fast, then gently coaxes those fingers off his shaft, giving that hand a kiss. He presses that hand to the pillows, then moves Peter’s other hand to do the same, before a hand cards through Peter’s hair and grips. He takes his cock into his own hand, and starts stroking it fast, bumping the head against his husband’s soft lips. “Open your mouth, but don’t try to suck. Just… hold your mouth open,” he instructs in a tight voice.

 

“Yes, Mr. Stark,” Peter murmurs, his lips brushing the head of Tony’s cock with the words. Then, he opens his mouth, not wide, but wide enough to catch the cum that his husband seems to want to feed him. Dark eyes look up to watch Tony’s as he waits patiently for him to come.

 

“Perfect,” Tony grits out, and within a few strokes, he’s shooting his load on Peter’s tongue. His hand tightens further in Peter’s hair, and his hand slows on his cock as each shot of the warm liquid is delivered, until he’s squeezing his shaft from base to tip to make sure he’s milked every last drop. Staring at that cum in Peter’s mouth keeps his cock hard, Tony hissing softly as he squeezes the head of it, trying to calm himself down at least a little. “Swallow,” he breathes out, eyes fixed on Peter’s mouth.

 

Peter swallows obediently, then opens his mouth to show his husband how the cum is gone. “All gone, just like you wanted,” he says, feeling a little bit silly.

 

“You did so good,” Tony says tightly, still squeezing the head of his cock. Stupid, early twenties erection. Go away, he’s already come twice. He slides back down to lying beside Peter, and smooths his hair, facing him and pulling him so Peter faces him in return. A soft kiss is given to his lips. “We should get some sleep,” he says, and by ‘we,’ he means Peter, while he’s probably going to run around the Tower or something with all this extra energy he has.

 

“You’re still hard,” Peter protests, tracing a finger along the length of Tony’s cock to illustrate. “You need more. I want to give it to you,” he gives Tony another soft kiss, then rolls onto his stomach, arching his hips up in the air, in invitation.

 

There’s a low groan for those arching hips, Tony staring at Peter’s ass as it’s put on display. He sits up, and gropes that ass, squeezing it tightly. “Maybe you could just relax while I have my way with you. You could even sleep, if you wanted,” Tony mutters, the imagery pretty hot in his head. Just… sweet, innocent Peter, sleeping while he gets fucked.

 

Yep, this erection isn’t going to just go away.

 

Tony grabs the lube and smears it on his cock, then guides the thick head to Peter’s entrance, sinking himself slowly inside his husband. He grips at a pillow with one hand, the other smoothing up and down Peter’s side, trying to soothe him.

 

Peter is still all but limp in his subspace, his head turned to the side, his eyes closed. The hand stroking his side does soothe him, making him drowsy, even as he fights to stay awake for his husband. “That feels good,” he murmurs in a heavy voice, his hips arching back a little to take more of Tony’s cock.

 

Tony thrusts very slowly, muttering quiet praises into Peter’s ear, ones that get softer and softer until he’s silent, and Peter’s fast asleep. A corner of Tony’s mind wonders if something’s wrong with him, when he can’t seem to stop being hard, and has to keep fucking his husband’s tight ass. Even after he comes, his cock throbs and aches, Tony taking in a frustrated breath. Soft, apologetic kisses are pressed to Peter’s neck and shoulder, a hand smoothing his hair as he just… keeps thrusting. Eventually, his body wears out before his cock does, and he falls asleep over his husband, buried inside him.

 

 

**A/N: Whew! Two chapters in less than 24 hours! We're exhausted, like Peter, but our boys just kept insisting we give them our time. This was a smut heavy chapter, to make up for the recent angst. We hope you enjoyed it! We've been enjoying the uptick in comments! Every one of them is a fantastic surprise. Thank you so much!**


	8. Chapter 8

 

It takes a few days for Tony to collect all the Team Avenger name badges, but eventually his baseball card collection is complete. The cards arrive, courtesy of Steve, who has them all in a large manilla envelope.

 

“Tony. Please don’t do this. We’re your friends,” Steve tries offering out the badges. “I just want to put all this behind us. Tell me how we do that, and keep the team safe?”

 

“I don’t know, Mr. Rodgers, you tell me,” Tony quips, taking the envelope and checking inside to see what the contents are. “Oh, my favorite,” he says, before opening his desk drawer and dropping the envelope inside. It’s just him and Steve right now, Steve having found him in his office actually working instead of playing house with his husband. Which means Peter is either in the R&D department working, or out being Spider Man.

 

Steve drops into one of the chairs that are in front of Tony’s desk and crosses his left ankle over his knee. “You know, that first day you and Peter came to the compound, I had every intention of giving you a piece of my mind,” he says, stroking his jaw thoughtfully. “I’m not proud of it now, but at the time I thought you were taking advantage of him, and it made me mad, but it also scared the hell out of me, wondering what was going on in your head. Then, it was obvious that you  _ weren’t _ taking advantage of him, but I was still scared for you. Because you never put less than 200% into what you care about, and I worried maybe you’d put that focus into Peter and if something happened to him, you wouldn’t recover. And if something happened to him on your watch, it would be even worse. I never wanted Spider Man to be on your watch, Tony.” His voice is heavy as he shakes his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I did everything wrong. Maybe I’m completely, totally in the wrong, but I’m still scared for you.”

 

There’s something arrogant about the way Tony sits in his office chair, even more so than when he was older. He stares into Steve’s eyes as he lets the man say his piece, keeping his expression mostly just to it’s usual resting cockiness, until Steve mentions something happening to Peter. Then a shadow of fear moves across his eyes, leaving him unsettled, briefly, until he pushes it away.

 

“Steve…” Tony begins, before leaning forward in his chair, and propping his elbows on his desk. He folds his hands as if he’s about to pray, tapping the sides of his fingers to his lips as he watches the other man. “Tell me something,” he continues, lacing his fingers, and resting his chin on the joined hands. “Do you put this much concern into everyone else with their love lives? Because if you do, I haven’t seen it. At least, I haven’t seen you and Nat try to split the team apart for the sake of  _ dealing _ with a  _ problem _ that I seem to present to you by being with Peter.”

 

“I never really had to think about it before the two of you,” Steve says plainly. He’d seen that shadow of fear, and he knows he’s not wrong, but that doesn’t make him right, either. “I never wondered with, say, Wanda and Viz that they wouldn’t do whatever it takes for the greater good, and the other stuff you pointed out to Nat... Well, that wasn’t really  _ emotional _ . This, though... I think if it came down to saving the world or saving Peter, you’d choose Peter. Every time. And that’s why I wanted to separate you onto different teams.”

 

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Tony tells him honestly. “Fuck this planet if there’s no Peter in it.” Maybe Tony is a bit like his father, in that the greater good rarely outweighs his own self interests. Just… Much of the time, the greater good has been in Tony Stark’s self interests. Until it tried to come between him and Peter.

 

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Steve says grimly, standing and offering out his hand. “I hope it never comes down to that decision, Tony. I truly do. And, I wish you both all the best, whatever you decide to do.” There’s not much left to say, after that. Tony’s already quit the team, and now he’s given Steve a reason not to try and get him back. “Don’t be a stranger. We’re still friends, even if we don’t fight for the same team.”

 

Tony rises from his chair, and rounds his desk, taking that offered hand and shaking it. “Thanks for coming by, Steve,” Tony says, being, well, polite. Some small part of him still remembers his manners. Steve’s trying really hard here to just be a good guy, and Tony can appreciate that. Enough to not tell him to go fuck himself, the judgemental fucking prick.

 

Steve breathes a small sigh of relief, when Tony doesn’t tell him to have the Avengers out of the Compound by the end of the week, but his heart is still heavy when he moves for the door and heads to the elevator. Tony has a view of him through the glass wall of his office, as he bumps into Peter climbing off the elevator. He places a hand on the young man’s shoulder and says something to him before entering the car and pressing the button for the doors to close. Peter looks after him for a moment, then turns back to come into Tony’s office. “Hey, Mr. Stark,” he says, his tone subdued.

 

Tony hasn’t quite made it back to his seat yet, and now he has reason to step away from his desk entirely, cupping Peter’s face. “Tell me what’s wrong. Did American Spandex say something mean? Because it’s not too late for me to go after him and kick his ass,” Tony murmurs, thumb smoothing at Peter’s cheek as he stares into his husband’s eyes.

 

“No. He wasn’t mean or anything,” Peter says, smiling a little as he stares back into Tony’s eyes. “I was thinking maybe I’d get you out of the office for lunch. I have hot dogs in the penthouse I can cook. Or we can go somewhere. I got paid today, so my treat. As long as we go somewhere that a level 1 engineer can afford.”

 

“Do you want to be CEO of this company? Because if you keep reminding me that you’re only a level 1 engineer, I’m going to go full nepotism on your ass,” Tony warns him. Pepper Potts probably wouldn’t like her job being taken by Peter, but then again, sleeping with Tony Stark is how  _ she _ went from personal assistant to CEO of a mega corporation. Not that she isn’t good at the job. Okay, stop internally monologuing in dick-ese, Tony.

 

“Let’s go some- Wait. No. Let’s have those hot dogs,” Tony decides suddenly, because of course he’s up to no good. His hands drift away from Peter’s face. “You gonna tell me what Steve said to you to make you sad?”

 

“I’m not sad, Mr. Stark. Promise,” Peter rushes to assure him, turning so that both men are facing the door, with his arm wrapped around Tony’s waist. “I gotta say, I didn’t expect you to want hotdogs, but I make ‘em really good. I boil them in the flavor packet that comes with ramen noodles. You’ve got ramen, right, Mr Stark?”

 

“Going to be honest with you, kid. I’m not even sure how I got hot dogs in my fridge,” Tony tells him, heading for the door and opening it for them. “What’s ramen?” Maybe he’s joking, but he sounds sincere enough. He ushers Peter along, and presses the button for the elevator. “And I’m not missing the part where you sidestepped my question again.”

 

“You caught that, huh?” Peter says, ruffling his own hair, embarrassed. “I thought I did a better job than that.”

 

“Wow. Sidestep number three. Someone wants the belt,” Tony says as they step into the elevator.

 

Peter’s face flushes with that statement, and he’s really glad they’re alone in the elevator. “You want to give me the belt, Mr. Stark? That’s gonna make it real hard to cook hot dogs.”

 

“Four. This is getting impressive,” Tony says, scanning his card so the elevator will take them to the penthouse level. “I guess I could drop the whole What Did Steve Say thing, but then you wouldn’t be racking up new and fun things for me to try all in the name of punishing you. And by punishing you, I mean making your dick hard, and mine possibly harder.”

 

“Just something about how you’d choose me, if it came down to it, so I shouldn’t let you make the choice,” Peter says, shrugging. “It didn’t really make sense. I think that he’s getting dementia.”

 

“I said I’d choose you over the world, in one of those typical fucking Steve scenarios where it’s you or the entire planet. I can see it now. Thanos is back. He’s going to run away with you, or destroy the planet. Tony, which are you going to let happen?” Tony snorts after saying the words dramatically. “Incidentally, I bet Thanos had a huge fucking di- Pepper?”

 

“Hi.” Pepper says as the elevator doors open, standing with something for him to probably sign. “I didn’t think you’d actually be in your office, so I checked for you here, first.” She looks from him to Peter, then back again. They look like twins now. How sweet.

 

“Hey, Pepper. I was just about to cook hot dogs in ramen juice. You want one?” Peter asks, stepping away from the pair and into the kitchen, where he starts rummaging around. “Crap,” he calls back to them. “There’s no ramen, so I guess we’ll just have plain hot dogs. Everybody still want one?”

 

“Pepper, what’s ramen?” Tony asks her, evidently not joking about the whole… not knowing what ramen is. He gives her a smile, and plucks the tablet from her hands and looks it over. “Ha! I’m not signing this.” He hands it back.

 

“God damn it, Tony,” Pepper snarls, losing her cool for a moment there, and stalking after him as he heads into the kitchen.

 

“Plain hot dogs are still good for me, what about you, Pepper?” Tony asks her conversationally, since Pepper doesn’t seem to believe in talking to Peter directly.

 

“No, Tony. I don’t want a hot dog. I want you to sign the papers, so I can let those patents we’re never going to use go and actually make the company some money off them,” she tells him, getting her voice back under control.

 

“That useless patent is my favorite patent. I was going to use it next week,” Tony tells her cheerfully, heading for the bar next. He pours himself a measure of bourbon, then has a sip, watching Pepper over the rim of his glass.

 

“No, you weren’t. You’re working on the Emperium merger next week,” Pepper bites out the words as he watches her calmly over his drink. “Also, are you really drinking at noon, now? I thought those days were behind you.”   
  


“I’m noticing the drinking directly corresponds to you bitching at me. You’re back to doing that, and now I’m back to drinking,” Tony quips, having another swallow of bourbon. “We could both try cutting back, if you want, but that doesn’t seem likely.”

 

“I’ve had another job offer.” Pepper says quietly, letting her hands fall to her sides. She’s not speaking in anger now, her voice is calm and collected. “Should I take it, Tony? Is that what you want?”

 

“Is this another one of those Chase Me, Tony, tests?” Tony asks, finishing his glass of bourbon, and taking the glass to the kitchen to rinse it out. He glances at the casually cowering Peter making the hot dogs in silence. The kid’s just leaving him to the wolves.

 

Peter shoots him a sympathetic look, but nope, he’s not getting involved in this spat between the former lovers. 

 

“It’s not. I’ve been sitting on it for a few days, trying to decide what to do. I’ve put a lot of time into helping build Stark Industries, but I’m not sure we’re ever going to work together the way we used to. Maybe it’s time to let go,” she says softly, looking down at her hands a moment before she raises blue eyes to Tony’s.

 

“Stay,” Tony says simply, taking in a deep, audible breath that makes his chest rise.

 

Peter puts the hot dogs on plates, two of them, and slides both plates over to Tony and Pepper, before he makes himself scarce again, heading into the bedroom to tinker with his web slingers.

 

Pepper is silent, thinking, while Peter leaves, then she takes up the hot dog, having a bite of it. She chews slowly, then swallows. “I want to stay, Tony,” she says quietly. “But, I need us to work together again, and I’m still so  _ angry _ with you.” She sighs heavily, as her mind works. “I can do it. For the company.”

 

Tony decides letting her talk and not saying anything shitty is probably the best way to get through this, so he stays silent as she works her way through everything, picking up the other hot dog and taking a bite, chewing. He swallows and goes to get a soda, getting her one too, and setting them both on the counter before cracking his open and taking a drink. When it looks like she’s waiting for him to say something, he scours his brain for something decent to reply with. Something meaningful. Something that isn’t in dick-ese. “I really appreciate that, Pepper.”

 

Pepper nods and holds out the tablet again, “I really do need you to sign this. Those patents are a never ending pit of losing cash,” she explains to him.

 

“That was low. Now you know I have to sign this, or you’ll get mad again and leave,” Tony grumbles, taking the tablet and giving it his signature. He passes it back to her. Then he has another bite of his hot dog. A part of him is still wondering what ramen is, what their packets contain, and how this hot dog could be improved with such ingredients.

 

“I told EnviraCorp I’d get back to them in a few weeks. If things don’t improve, I’ll do us both a favor and take the job,” she says flatly. “Tell Peter thanks for the hot dog.”

 

“I double dog dare you to tell him yourself, Mrs. Robinson. You know, do that thing where you actually speak directly to him? And you could have more than one bite. I’m the one that’s supposed to starve himself until he remembers to eat, not you,” Tony gripes, having more soda. “And, furthermore, the part where I’m to walk on eggshells for the next few weeks is duly noted.”

 

“No eggshells, Tony. If we can’t get along for real I need to know it before this opportunity goes away,” Pepper corrects. There’s no way she’s walking into her old bedroom to say thank you to the man who lives in it now. She holds the tablet to her chest and begins the walk back to the elevator.

 

Tony lets her have the last word, and the cool exit, ignoring how long it takes the elevator to get to her before she disappears into it and away. He finishes his hot dog, and puts Pepper’s untouched soda back. He stews there in the kitchen a little bit, drinking his soda and eating her hot dog, until he’s finished it, too. Then he’s heading into the bedroom with his soda, opening the door and leaning against the frame. “Did you eat anything, Peter?”

 

“No. I’ll make myself another hot dog. Aunt May always said food’s a good diffuser for a tense situation, so I thought you guys needed it more than me,” he says, putting away the web slinger he’s working on and his tools. “You okay?”

 

“I’m great. Pepper might leave, if I don’t start kissing her ass, though. She got another job offer,” Tony mutters, kicking off his shoes and dropping onto the bed with a flop. He stares up at the ceiling. “I don’t want to run this company. I know you don’t want to run this company. I’m fucked if she leaves.”

 

“I don’t know  _ how _ to run this company. I’d do it for you, if I did,” Peter says solemnly, dropping onto the bed beside him. “So, I guess we have to play nice. That shouldn’t be too hard. I’ll just pretend I don’t exist, and she can keep ignoring me.”

 

“She said thanks for the hot dog, by the way,” Tony tells Peter, reaching for his hand and lacing their fingers. Over the course of the week and a half he’s been younger, Tony’s hands are already starting to toughen up and form the beginnings of callouses from all his machine work. Soon enough, they’ll actually feel like his hands again. “And I know you’d run the company if you knew how.” He turns his head, looking at Peter. “I love you, Peter Stark.”

 

“I love you, too, Tony Stark,” he says with a half smile, squeezing his hand before he sits up. “How was your hot dog? Not as good as with the ramen, right?” He asks, as he climbs to his feet and slides his shoes back on. “I mean, I know you haven’t had ‘em that way, but you can imagine what they’d taste like.”

 

“I really can’t. I still don’t know what ramen is,” Tony says, watching as Peter gets up and gets his shoes on. “You going to make yourself that hot dog?”

 

“It’s like these cheap noodles you put a seasoning packet in, after you’ve cooked them. I like the beef ones, or the spicy chili flavor, personally,” he says, laughing a little at explaining ramen to somebody who went to college. Then again, they had very different college experiences. “And, yeah. I’m starving. Unless you want me to stay with you, instead. I could do that, too.”

 

“I’ll come with you, then we can do both,” Tony says, sliding off the bed and getting his shoes back on. He gives Peter a kiss, then gets the door for them, and heads back into the kitchen. “You know what? We should see about recruiting more people for our team. Team Stark with just, you know, the Misters Stark in it is great and all, but it might be nice to-”

 

“Finally, you got to this point in the conversation,” Dr. Strange drawls, stepping out of a portal and into the Stark kitchen.

 

Tony jumps about a mile, and stares at the man like he’s got three heads. Or like he just stepped out of a portal and into his kitchen. “Could you  _ not _ do that from now on? I mean, seriously?”

 

“Whoa!” Peter exclaims, watching as Dr. Strange steps through his portal. “That’s never not going to be awesome!” he enthuses, then he thinks about how he was just in bed with Tony, and that could have gone another way pretty easily. “But, yeah, I’m all about the knocking first life. You never know what you might see around here, if you don’t.”

 

“Let me guess. Father/son fun times with the belt?” Dr. Strange asks, unimpressed, and heading to the fridge to look inside. “Or I guess it’s more brother/brother now, if we’re keeping with the really dark family analogies.” He takes out a bottle of beer, twists off the cap, and has a drink.

 

“Excuse me, all that aside for a second, but how long have you been spying on us?” Tony asks, trying to decide if he’s horrified or turned on slightly.

 

“At least since the elevator,” Peter pipes up helpfully, then he realizes how long ago that was and he glowers at the older man, arms crossed over his chest.

 

“If the two of you could stop being offended by my complex existence for a moment, we might get around to why I’m here,” Dr. Strange murmurs, having more beer.

 

“Okay, why are you here?” Tony asks. “I was just bringing up making a team of more than just Peter and me, so is it something to do with that?”

 

“Yes,” Dr. Strange says, giving him a faint smile. “I have some defectors you might like to see. I could get them here with a portal, if the two of you can contain yourselves for the event.”

 

“You say that like we just have sex all the time,” Peter grumbles, to which Dr. Strange raises an eyebrow. “Well, not in  _ public _ , we don’t!”

 

“Alright, let’s see these defectors,” Tony says, resigning himself to a house full of Dr. Strange groupies, or whatever the hell Stephen is about to come up with.

 

Dr. Strange makes the next portal, and motions with a hand for the people to step through. Rhodie comes through first, then Wanda, followed by Vision.

 

“Ah, home sweet home,” Vision says fondly, glancing around. “Hello, Mr. Stark. Hello, Peter.”

 

“We heard we might be wanted over here,” Wanda says next in that husky voice of hers, her hand laced with Vision’s.

 

“Okay, I only just stated the idea out loud. Have you been playing with time or-” Tony begins, but Dr. Strange stops him with a look.

 

“That’s rich, coming from you, Marty McFly,” Dr. Strange murmurs, before shrugging a shoulder. “I’m aware of things. I could pretend I’m not, and let you take the five minutes out of your day that  you’re not having sex for the next two weeks to slowly form this plan, or I could give you a gift.” Dr. Strange motions to the three visitors. “Behold. My gift.”

 

“Marty McFly. That’s from those really old movies about time travel, with the car, right?” Peter pipes up, always up to point out a pop culture reference.

 

“No more pop culture references, either of you,” Tony says, pointing first at Dr. Strange, then at Peter. He steps up to Rhodie, who hasn’t said anything yet, and crosses his arms. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. I haven’t seen you in ages.”

 

“Try not having your head up your own ass for about ten minutes, and you’ll see me well enough,” Rhodie replies easily. Then he grins and offers out his hand to shake Tony’s.

 

Tony takes it, then gives him a hug on top of that hand grip, clapping him on the back. “Well, this is fun. Hi Vision. Hi Wanda. So, I hear I’m making a team, and everyone wants to be on it, right?”

 

“I’m actually not vying to be on any team,” Dr. Strange amends. “I’ll help whoever I like, and you’ll be happy for the assistance.” He inspects his short nails absently, having more beer.

 

“Thanks for clearing that up, Doogie Howser, MD,” Tony grumbles.

 

“I thought you said no more pop culture references!” Peter gripes, because he  _ totally _ could have made a Team Switzerland reference, when Dr. Strange said he wasn’t taking a side.

 

Wanda breaks into a slow smile. “Viz and I didn’t want to be separated into two different teams. We were hoping things might be better over here, with the Misters Stark.”

 

Peter turns hopeful eyes to Tony, waiting for him to answer, because this is absolutely  _ his _ team to lead. He’s just lucky enough to be the first one on it.

 

Tony looks from those hopeful Peter eyes to Wanda, Vision, and Rhodie. Then he grins, “I just basically stole the best of the Avengers. I mean…” Points at Wanda, “God Mode Powers.” Points at Vision, “God Mode Powers.” Points at Rhodie, “G- Uh. Well. You’re basically me, just better looking, so what’s not to love about that level of perfection?” And then he looks back to Dr. Strange. “And you’re on my team sometimes? That’s more God Mode.”

 

Peter grins hard as Tony adopts the wayward Avengers onto his fledgling team. “So, we gotta name yet, Mr. Stark?” he asks, eager to cement this new team into something tangible.

 

Dr. Strange sighs as Tony seems to think that over and everyone else in the room looks ever so eager. “Team Stark,” he says flatly. “You’re going to pour over various team names, and find all the great ones are already taken. By then, everyone’s going to be calling you Team Stark, and it’ll stick. Sure, you’ll try different names, but the masses will just keep calling you Team Stark.” Has more beer.

 

“Could you try dialing down the God Complex just a little?” Tony complains, before shrugging. “I like Team Stark. Does everyone want to be an honorary Stark? We’ll be a family. Which is so much cooler than those egg sucking Avengers with their couple-splitting rules.”

 

“Do I have to marry you?” Rhodie asks. “Because you just told me I’m better looking than you, and now you want me to take on your name. I don’t like where this is going.”

 

“I’m the only one marrying Mr. Stark,” Peter says firmly, leveling Rhodie with a hard stare. “Speaking of which, you feel like pinning down a date yet?” he asks Tony, deciding to put him on the spot in front of everybody.

 

“Still going to need at least a month for that, because I know important people with busy schedules,” Tony reminds Peter. “So, how about thirty days from today? We can start sending out the invitations tomorrow.”

 

“I just love weddings,” Vision says fondly, squeezing Wanda’s hand gently.

 

“So, are you guys moving in? Because there are some apartments here that are really nice. I’ve seen them, and I’ll bet Tony can get a couple for you, because he’s the majority shareholder and he owns the building and everything,” Peter asks, just making sure everybody knows they’re not going to be sleeping on the couch or having slumber parties. There’s way too much sex in this house for that.

“I did hope we might get an invitation,” Wanda says with a smile.

 

“I already have an apartment here. Tony and I go way back,” Rhodie says helpfully. “So I’m definitely in for that move.”

 

“I have a house,” Dr. Strange says. “I can’t very well stay with either team.” Not that anyone’s really listening to him.

 

Tony and Peter excitedly go about getting their new team members shown to whatever apartment they’d like, grabbing the keys for them and having the appropriate badges made. Then it’s back to work for Stark Industries for the Misters Stark, going about the rest of their day in their respective sections of the building.

 

When dinner time comes, Tony invites everyone out to eat to celebrate. They go to one of those 24 hour breakfast diners, so they don’t have to dress up, and sit at a table, sucking down milkshakes as they eat their food.

 

“So one of the best things about being young again is I can order milkshakes with Peter, and no one even bats an eye anymore. Used to be, he’d order one and I’d get a coffee while staring disapprovingly. It was so much pressure,” Tony says, before taking another sip of his chocolate shake.

 

“That’s such bullshit. Old people order milkshakes too,” Rhodie pipes up, drinking from his. “Nobody ever gives me the eye for it.”

 

“You’re not old, Rhodie,” Wanda tells him with a fond smile.

 

“Everyone’s old, compared to me,” Peter points out, then holds up his hands to ward off the barrage of food that comes flying at him. “Hey! Was it something I said?” he laughs, then laughs harder when Viz points out that technically  _ he’s _ the youngest at the table, since he’s only technically existed for a few years.

 

“Yeah but you have that Infinity Stone that makes you go,” Peter defends. “That makes you part ancient, so it doesn’t count. Like people who were born on leap year and insist they’re only six, or something!”

 

That sparks a debate about who’s older, with the group coming to the consensus that while Vision may  _ technically _ be younger, Peter’s definitely the youngest of the group. He gives Tony a proud smile, because he knows the other man likes the reminder sometimes of just how young he really is.

 

When the meal is over, they return to the Tower, soon to be renamed Stark Tower, and the group separates off to their own living quarters. Once they’re behind closed doors, Tony spends hours and hours showing Peter just how much he likes that reminder of how young he really is.

 

 

**A/N: So, this was a short chapter to set up the next. Keep your seatbelts fastened. Things are gonna be a little bumpy for a while! We're almost done with the next chapter, and we're planning to submit it as soon as we're done with it, so you may have two chapters in a day from us. We hope you won't mind too awful much! Comments, questions, and concerns are always welcome!**

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was pointed out by a reader that this chapter should contain a warning for some light non Starker writing. If you're reading purely for Starker this will be a disappointing chapter for you. If you're reading for the story, I think you'll be okay.

 

Two days before Tony and Peter’s wedding, Team Stark is fighting for their lives against a foe that just barely seems to notice they’re there. She fends off their blows and attacks with ease, not even a bead of sweat on her bald head to show she’s working. It’s like she’s just waiting for something, because she isn’t pressing back, just keeping them at bay.

 

But, the waiting and the lack of sweating isn’t what Tony and Peter notice first about the woman. They notice that she’s wearing Dr. Strange’s necklace. The one that holds the Time Stone safe in its confines. The Eye of Agamotto.

 

It isn’t until Dr. Strange arrives, lifted into the air by his Cloak of Levitation, the Time Stone glowing at his neck that she seems to take interest in the proceedings. “Ah. Dr. Strange,” she says, pale blue eyes lighting up, as though she’s seen a long-lost friend. “How kind of you to join us.”

 

“I don’t want to fight you,” Stephen says to make that much very clear, not making any sudden moves. Even the levitation is slow, gradual, gentle. He knows better than to try to cross this particular being. “Why are you doing this, Ancient One?”

 

“No, I don’t suppose you do want to fight me,” she says pleasantly, as she folds her hands behind her back and waits for him to break away from Team Stark lined up behind him, so that he can come forward to meet her. 

 

Stephen lands on booted feet, and strides toward the Ancient One, his heart beating faster. He tries to be aware of as much of his surroundings as he can, but really, all he can see is her, and the potential threat she poses, should she decide to do so. So far, it would seem that she has. He stops a respectable distance from her, just right for a conversation without crowding her. Then he drops down gracefully to his knees, and bows his head.

 

“Great. This is just great,” Rhodie mutters, staring at the exchange.

 

Spider Man slings a web off a nearby building to swing closer to Stephen, landing with a somersault beside him. “Hey, Doc. We don’t usually, bow to the bad guys on Team Stark. It’s sort of a thing,” he hisses, loud enough to be heard by both Strange and the Ancient One, even if the words are intended for Stephen only. “Maybe-”

 

His words are cut off when his spider sense alerts him to danger. His eyes widen but before he can move, the Ancient One has stepped forward, taking the offensive for the first time since the fight began. She punches him in the chest, and he flies backward, feeling like he’s zooming through Time itself. “Oh, my God!” he shouts out as he tumbles and flips, before coming to rest in an infinity of nothing. No ground, no ceiling, just a blinding white light as far as he can see.

 

For the rest of Team Stark, it seems as though the Ancient One simply punches Peter out of existence. One second he’s there, crouched near Strange, the next he’s gone, with only her motion to show he’d ever been there.

 

Tony snarls, and leaps into the air with his jets, aiming missiles at the so called Ancient One, seeing red. Nevermind that Strange is pretty much in the way. He’s a big boy. He can handle-

 

Stephen makes quick motions with his hands, and sets up a domed forcefield around himself and the Ancient One, neatly keeping Tony, his missiles, and the rest of Team Stark out of their business and proceedings. And he doesn’t even lift onto his feet to do it. A grim look is on his face as he studies the Ancient One before him, his voice hoarse. “Why?”

 

“Because you have much to learn, and this is the only way it can happen,” she says simply. “And what do you care about the boy? Aren’t Team Stark and the Avengers just a means to an end for you, Doctor Strange?”

 

Stephen stares up at her, tension tightening his muscles, but not to spring. It’s something else entirely. “Perhaps the lesson may be learned without sacrificing the boy, or anyone else. I am yours to teach, Ancient One.”

 

“Perhaps,” she agrees with him, taking a step closer. “Does that mean you will submit to my lesson willingly, if I bring the boy back?” she asks, curious. “And that you will fight me, if I do not?”

 

“It means that it is my hope you will bring the boy back,” Stephen says hoarsely. “I am yours to teach, whatever you decide.”

 

“I see I still have your allegiance, even after all this time,” she says, as if she’s not completely surprised. “Very, well, Doctor Strange. If you are mine to teach, then teach you I shall.” An open palmed strike is delivered to his chest, as well, the pair of them vanishing into thin air.

 

#

 

“Hey! I’m not alone!” Peter cries out happily, when Dr. Strange suddenly appears beside him in this land of nothing. “I think I’ve been singing ‘Found a Peanut’ for hours, but I’m not really sure. I think Time works differently here, or something. Are you here to rescue me? Because I’m not too proud to say, ‘please.’”

 

Without a word, Stephen begins the swirling motions to make a portal to take them back to New York. Normally, he’d invite Peter to go through first, but since he’s feeling particularly protective in this moment, and worried that somehow things will go awry and separate them, he takes the younger man by the wrist and pulls him through the portal with him. They step into an alley near where they left, then onto the road where everyone should be standing.

 

Except cars are packing the road, in standstill traffic, with no Team Stark or Ancient One to be seen.

 

“Did we get the wrong day?” Peter asks, looking around at the ordinariness of the day. Nobody seems upset, like they probably would if a fight was happening between superheroes and a villain, and there’s no property damage, either. “‘Cause I’m thinking either we got here a little early, or way late.” There’s no way they’re way off, though. Dr. Strange is really good with the sparkly magic stuff he does.

 

With his hand still tightly gripping Peter’s wrist, Stephen pulls the young man along as he babbles, until he reaches a newspaper stand on the corner of the street. Stephen looks down at the date on the paper, then frowns with thought. “We’re two years in the past,” he tells Peter, before throwing another portal up into the air, and pulling him through it.

 

They end up back in the alley they were in before, and encounter the same traffic. The same newspaper stand, and a wide eyed newspaper salesman. “This seems to be as close to the present as I can take us,” Stephen says to Peter, frowning again. “Perhaps the presence of two Time Stones together in the same area has limited my powers.”

 

“Like there’s a bubble around our present, and now we can’t go back?” Peter asks, hoarsely. Because in this world, he can’t go back to Tony. Because Tony’s just the guy who gives him great tech and asks that he check in once in a while. Because he’s still just a student in his second year at Columbia. He’s in love with MJ, and still a virgin, for crying out loud. “No. Nope. Uh-uh. This isn’t happening,” he says flatly, turning to walk away toward the Tower. He wants to go home.

 

“You can’t be both. You can’t have Tony now, and in the future. Doing anything to influence the turn of events in this timeline will cause a timeline split for your future,” Stephen says quickly, walking to keep up with Peter. “Besides. Tony’s madly in love with Pepper right now. Do you really want him to throw you out for trying to tell him what’s going to happen?”

 

That stops him in his tracks, an anguished sob tearing from his throat. He doesn’t want to see Tony,  _ his _ husband, fawning over Pepper, and he remembers how in love they’d been. He can’t deal with that. Not anymore than Pepper can stand the sight of him with Tony now. “Oh, god. We’re homeless. We can’t go to Aunt May’s because she’ll wonder why I’m not at Columbia. And we can’t go there, because  _ I’m _ there. And we can’t go to your place because  _ you’re _ there.” Peter reaches for a street lamp, using it to hold himself upright, when his knees give out. “I can’t even be Spider Man, because there’s  _ already _ a Spider Man, and he’d know if there were sudden reports of things he didn’t do.”

 

Stephen stops beside the younger man, listening, a hand hesitantly reaching out to touch the other’s shoulder. He gives it a careful squeeze, the urge to lift him off his feet nearly causing Stephen to scoop him up, so he doesn’t have to worry about weakened knees, or anything else. But that would hardly be appropriate.

 

“I think it would be best if we left New York City, to limit the chances of us running into ourselves and clueing them in on what’s going to happen, giving them any idea that something is amiss, or changing the timelines. Because right now, in your past, you have yet to meet yourself. We want to keep it that way,” Stephen says calmly, watching Peter with his multicolored eyes.

 

“Fine, but we should go somewhere we can get a start on the $1000 Tony put in my wallet this morning. My credit cards won’t work, and I can’t get money out of my savings without starting a whole chain of events we’re trying to avoid,” Peter rationalizes, his voice dull. He has to live two years without Tony. Compared to that, everything else seems inconsequential. “And we should get some clothes. Spider Man doesn’t start wearing this version of the suit for another year and a half.”   
  


“I suppose I can’t steal from myself, either. I’d come hunt me down to see what was going on,” Stephen muses, trying, and failing, to remember any money or objects that might have gone missing in his life about two years ago that he never investigated. He knows he’d at least notice something like that. Just would depend on the day if he’d simply let it go. Best not to risk it, then. “How do you feel about Mexico?”

 

“ _ Asi asi _ ,” Peter replies in Spanish, his voice still dull. “Maybe I can be a luchadore, or something,” he thinks aloud. “At least I’m good with masks, and I don’t know anything about Mexican wrestling, so I won’t notice myself, even if I become famous.”

 

“Perfect,” Stephen says, making the motions to throw another portal into the air, then grabbing Peter’s wrist again before stepping through it. He’s selected a beach town, hoping it might cheer Peter up to see the water, even if it’s not the most economical of decisions. That $1,000 will go further anywhere in Mexico than it will in America, but picking a more destitute, less touristy town would be cheaper. Then again, if they want Peter to become a famous wrestler, they’ll need to be close to civilization.

 

#

 

Two weeks later, Stephen is practicing medicine. There’s no shortage of need for a doctor with his level of skill, so he works long hours, but is already bringing home enough money for it to not be necessary for Peter to work. He’d offer the option, but he suspects the younger man would go crazy if he didn’t have work to look forward to.

 

“It was my turn to cook dinner,” Stephen points out, surprised when he sees Peter putting plates of food on the table. They usually meet about in the middle of the evening, just before Peter leaves to work his bartending job. He watches the young man carefully, and moves to go wash his hands, before sitting at the table. “Everything looks delicious,” he adds, wanting to make sure it’s known he appreciates the young man’s effort.

 

“It’s street tacos. Again,” Peter dismisses the compliment as he spoons the meat into the corn tortillas and tops it with _ pico de gallo _ . He’s gotten pretty good a seasoning the meat and making the  _ pico _ , but the best part is the fresh guacamole he makes to serve with chips on the side. “I’m probably going to be pretty late. Rico’s short handed, so I’m closing tonight, most likely.” That might be a ruse on Rico’s part. He’s been trying to seduce Peter for the week and a half Peter’s been working there, but the money’s good, so he puts up with it.

 

“I imagine you’ll be getting home about when I start to wake up for my day,” Stephen muses, unaware of what Peter’s been putting up with from Rico. Stephen would have made short work of the man, if he’d known. Multicolored eyes watch Peter’s hands as the younger man goes about eating, but only for a moment, before he looks back to his own food and takes up a chip, trying the delicious guacamole. He blames the fascination with Peter’s hands on the fact that Peter happens to be the best part of his day. Somehow, he became the only part Stephen ever really looks forward to. And it’s not just the fact that they’re sort of marooned together in time. It’s… Having never lived with anyone, for one thing. Having never let anyone get this close to him, and they’re not what most people would even consider all that close, really.

 

“Yeah. I’ll be home around 3 am, unless I end up working a double.” Bars in Mexican party towns don’t really close, they just have periods where there aren’t that many customers. “You need me to pick anything up on my way? I was thinking we could have chimichangas for dinner tomorrow,” Peter’s really been going kind of native with his cooking thing. Not that he really knows how to cook, but he knows how to read directions, and recipes are pretty much just directions.

 

“You could bring home some breakfast burritos, unless you want me to cook pancakes,” Stephen offers, “Assuming you don’t work a double. Then I’m perfectly capable of fending for myself before work.” He adds the toppings to one of his tacos, and takes a bite. He’s schooled himself to mostly look down at his plate when they eat, because one time, early on, he got caught staring at the young man. Just… watching him for long moments in fascination, until Peter complained.

 

“Nah. I’ll avoid the double, Dr. Strange,” Peter says easily, “and bring home those burritos.” He makes a point of rolling the ‘r’ before it just feels like too much effort and goes back to eating. He’s saving up his energy to flirt for tips tonight, and he just can’t be lively both at home and work, yet.

 

“Peter, you don’t have to call me by my title and last name. I do have a given name,” Stephen reminds him patiently. He tried calling Peter ‘Mr. Stark’ to counter that way of speaking, to show him how awkward it sounds and feels, but it only seemed to remind Peter of what he isn’t, at least not now. Which made Peter sad, and broke Stephen’s heart.

 

Stephen never wants to make Peter sad. Not ever again.

 

“Right. Stephen,” Peter says awkwardly, scratching at the back of his head before he takes another bite. “Any big plans for the night? You know, they’re having a mechanical bull-riding tournament at the club. You could come watch, or, you know... compete.”

 

Right. Like Stephen Strange is going to go mechanical bull-riding. That’s way too much fun for this man to ever have.

 

Except Peter suggested it. And it’ll be an excuse to spend more time with him. Or at least watch him from a distance. Maybe he’ll even get a shot at impres-

 

“Absolutely,” Stephen says easily after a moment’s hesitation. “I’d considered sleeping, but that’s not nearly as exciting.”

 

Peter offers him a grin. “Rico wants me to ride tonight, so I guess we’ll be competing, if you decide to ride, too. It’s fun, though, even if you don’t stick the full eight seconds.” Not as much fun as swinging around on webs, but as much fun as Peter gets to have for a while.

 

“I promise not to cheat,” Stephen says solemnly, studying that grin. It lights up Peter’s face, and he finds that he wishes he knew how to inspire the expression more often. Then he’s grabbing another chip and having more dip, because that keeps him from staring.

 

“Where’s the fun in that, Dr. Uh. Stephen?” Peter says, shoving his last bite of taco into his mouth and chewing slowly before he reaches for his bottle of Coke and has a swing. “Best thing about Mexico is this Coke,” he decides. He doesn’t hate where he is or who he’s with. He just hates  _ when _ he is and the fact that he can’t go home.

 

“It is very good Coke,” Stephen agrees, eating much more slowly than Peter. Then again, most people do. The young man wolfs down his food like it’s an eating contest. “When does the competition start?” he asks.

 

“Eight,” he replies, standing up to clear his plate away, taking it to the sink in their little apartment. “If you’re sure you’re going to be there, I’ll put you on the list, so you don’t have to get there early, if you don’t want. Otherwise you’d have to be there by seven-thirty to enter.”

 

“Please,” Stephen says, working on his food. “I’ll be there a bit before eight. I intend to give my food time to digest, and have a hot shower, first.”

 

“Good idea. I gotta go, though,” he says, going for his jacket. It’s not really needed in the Mexican desert, but it gets a little chilly walking home at three am, and he’d rather wear it than carry it. “See you a little before eight. Drinks are on me,” Peter calls as he heads out the door, locking it behind him.

 

“See you then,” Stephen calls back, just as the door closes. He finishes his meal, then goes for that shower. Normally, by now, his body would be tired, but the prospect of doing something different with his night, and not spending it alone? That thrills him into having energy.

 

So by the time the mechanical bull riding is about to start, Stephen is at the club feeling like he’s relaxed and well rested, despite having been up since before dawn, and working all day. He approaches the bar, and has a seat, watching as Peter grins at some older man who, in turn, pops an American twenty dollar bill into his open mouth. Stephen’s eyes widen, then narrow, but he forces the look off of his face by the time Peter heads in his direction.

 

Peter’s wiped the fake smile off his face by the time he reaches Stephen, but he offers the other man the real thing as he puts down a coaster for the drink he’ll be pouring. “What’s your poison, Doc?” he asks. He’s learned to make a whole lot of drinks by now, but pouring tequila and popping the tops off bottles of beer is still the main part of his job.

 

“I’ll just take a beer, thank you,” Stephen tells him after clearing his throat to make sure his voice is level sounding enough. Not too tight with jealousy. Nor too hopeful from getting a real smile from the young man. Just… normal.

 

“You gotta brand in mind? We have the Mexican beers and the domestic, except the Mexican beers are domestic here and the domestics are imports. Weird world, huh?” he asks, leaning his forearms against the counter while he talks.

 

Stephen allows himself to make eye contact when the younger man is speaking, and when he speaks, but in the pause between those sentences, he looks down at Peter’s forearms thoughtfully. They just happen to be in his line of sight, and isn’t it such a wonderful coincidence? “Pick one for me, please. I’m not very good at… drinking.”

 

For just a second a shadow flits across Peter’s face, as he thinks about the time he wasn’t very good at drinking, but Tony was. The time that started  _ them _ . Then he shakes his head and smiles. “Sure thing, Doc. One  _ Dos Equis _ coming up. Because I like saying ‘One two horse’ in mixed languages,” he babbles, turning away from the bar to dig around in the ice for the right bottle. He pops the top off with his speed opener, and sets the drink on that empty coaster, next to the one he opened for himself. He stares at the bottle for half a second, then picks his back up and offers out the neck, “ _ Salude _ .”

 

“ _ Salude _ ,” Stephen repeats, lifting his bottle of beer and tapping the neck to Peter’s bottle, before having a drink. He might not know much about beer or drinking, but it’s not as if he’s never had beer before. Sometimes, when he’s raiding a fridge, he gets one, for example. He feels it helps him fit in a little better, being a man drinking a beer, after all.

 

That’s about when the fanfare for the mechanical bull riding starts up, the announcer getting the crowd going. Stephen watches Peter while Peter watches the excitement, then he looks away in time to not get caught, drinking more of his beer. It’s not that Stephen is shy by any stretch of the imagination. He’s just… resigned to not trying to claim what absolutely isn’t his.

 

One by one, the patrons who have signed up to ride the bull get up to take their turns, and Peter notices a customer trying to catch his attention. He taps the bar in front of Stephen to catch his attention, then nods in the girl’s direction, letting him know he’s leaving him alone for a few minutes. Once he’s stepped away, he puts on a wide smile, flirting with the girl as he pours her a shot of tequila. She downs the shot and asks for another, which he pours with an admiring look on his face. She downs that shot, too, and leans into his personal space putting her hand on his forearm. He doesn’t return the touch, but he doesn’t back away from it either. In the end, she writes her number down on a piece of paper and presses it into his hand. Peter lowers his hand beneath the bar, like he’s sliding it into his pocket, but drops it on the floor instead. She offers him up one last flirtatious smile, then leaves an American twenty on the bar to cover her two drinks and his tip.

Peter enters the two drinks into the register and makes change, tucking his money into the tip jar near the till. Then, he’s free to return to where Stephen is sitting, waiting for his name to be called.

 

Stephen has his beer on its coaster on the bar, gently rolling it between his hands in thought, as if he’s been staring into space this whole time and not watching Peter like a hawk. Multicolored eyes focus on the young man as he approaches, Stephen giving him a nod. That’s about when a big, buff man, about five years older than Peter, steps over like he owns the place. Judging by the way he just helps himself behind the counter, and nobody blinks, Stephen would imagine he probably does.

 

“This your friend?” the man asks Peter, jerking his chin toward Stephen.

 

“Yeah. This is Dr. Stephen Strange,” Peter says, to introduce him. “Stephen, this is Rico. He owns the place.” From the looks of things, Rico is used to that getting him a lot of attention. Unfortunately, Peter knows the man who owns the majority stock of Stark Industries, so he isn’t impressed.

 

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Stephen says formally, offering out his hand to shake.

 

“Yeah, likewise,” Rico says, shaking Stephen’s hand. Then he leans on the bar counter, and just stares openly at Peter, rolling a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “So are we just hanging out here with Stephen?”

 

“Between customers and watching the tournament, yeah,” Peter says easily, taking a sip of his beer. “You want to join us? We’re pretty lively, so you might have a hard time keeping up, but we’re friendly, so it’s mostly worth it.”

 

Peter seemed to have turned Rico’s attempt at giving the younger man shit into something that gives the club owner hope. “I think I will,” he says with a smile, tongue playing with the toothpick. Maybe someone in his past told him the toothpick thing was sexy.

 

Tanned fingers reach up, and tuck a few strands of Peter’s hair behind his ear, before Rico’s hand falls to Peter’s beer, stealing it and having a sip. And that’s when Steven decides he doesn’t like Rico. At. All.

 

“Yeah, go ahead and have that one. I was done with it,” Peter says, uncomfortable, but hiding it pretty well. “I think I’m in the mood for something American. Something you don’t have to put fruit into before you drink it,” Peter says tightly, turning away and getting himself a Budweiser, instead. He actually likes the  _ Dos Equis _ better, but there’s no way he’s drinking after Rico.

 

Rico stands there with a big, shit eating grin on his face, checking out Peter’s ass when the young man turns to get that beer. And that’s when Stephen reaches up with a hand and grabs the man’s head, before slamming his face into the bar top, efficiently breaking his nose. Maybe that was a bit much to some, but he figures this isn’t likely an isolated event. There must have been more, to the point that Rico’s touching Peter in front of others, and stealing his beer. He can only imagine what the man tries to get away with when they’re alone.

 

“Are you alright, Rico?” Stephen asks calmly when Rico howls in pain, grabbing at his nose to try to stop the bleeding.

 

“Holy, shit, what happened?” Peter asks, wide-eyed when he turns around to find Rico holding his face and yelling for some ice. He makes up a quick ice pack for the man and gives it to him, but he gets a glimpse of that smashed nose when Rico takes away his hand to apply the ice. “You should let Doc take a look at that for you. I think it’s broken, and he used to be the top neurosurgeon in New York before he became a beach bum.”

 

Rico doesn’t seem to know that Stephen did this to him, but then again, it had happened quickly, and Stephen did act as calmly as if he hadn’t done anything at all. “Yes, let me take a look at it, Rico,” Stephen says, having a drink of his beer, trying to keep the murder out of his eyes. “Is there somewhere in the back we can go?”

 

The club owner nods with a groan, and off Stephen goes with Rico, to one of the storage rooms. Stephen waits until the door closes behind them, then goes about delicately inspecting the man’s nose. Until he’s shoving two fingers up the nostrils, and pulling him downward in a controlled hold. “Don’t. Touch. Peter,” he growls out in that low voice of his that carries through the din of Rico’s howling. When Stephen hears fast footfalls coming in their direction, he pops the man’s nose back into its correct position, then smiles at him, giving his face a mocking pat before the door is jerked open.

 

“It sounds like you’re killing him,” Peter says, taking in the scene. “People out front are starting to get nervous. Can I tell ‘em you’re okay, Rico?” he asks, able to guess what happened by the blood on Stephen’s fingers. You don’t usually reach into somebody’s nostrils to straighten their nose, at least not from what he’s seen on TV.

 

Rico gives Stephen a wary look. Normally, he’d kick an old man’s ass that tried this shit on him, but there’s something absolutely terrifying about the doctor that has Rico clearing his throat, and muttering, “I’ll tell them myself,” before he steps out of the room and back toward the main room of the club.

 

Stephen goes about wiping his hands off on a towel he’s found, while trying to look innocent, saying absently, “As it turns out, straightening a man’s nose can seem even more painful than breaking it.”

 

“Yeah,” Peter says softly, watching intently as Stephen goes about cleaning himself up. “It’s lucky you were here. To fix his nose, after he broke it all of a sudden.” He doesn’t believe for a second it was an accident. “The guy’s a creep. Maybe he’ll be a little less creepy now, huh?”

 

Stephen smiles slightly, multicolored eyes finding their way to dark ones. “I should hope so. Do you know where the sink is? I’d actually like to wash my hands.”

 

“Yeah. You can use the one behind the bar. Rico won’t mind,” Peter says, watching Stephen intently. Then, he tears his eyes away and leads him to the sink behind the bar.

  
  


#

  
  


Six months later, it’s time for Christmas. The little Mexican beach town is all but deserted for the winter, but the odd tourist still strolls in on the weekend, looking for a little fun. Peter flirts with them to get his money, but not deeply enough that any of them ever get to know his name.

 

Stephen comes to the beach club once or twice a week, just to keep Rico in line, but the man’s been a saint every since that day he broke his nose. Both Peter and Stephen discover that they enjoy the mechanical bull and ride it when they get the chance, always daring each other to higher settings, until they’re both pros.

 

Their tiny apartment, after six months, is actually kind of homey, in a south of the border sort of way, with a little Christmas tree in the corner. They’d spent an hour debating a small tree versus a big one, but Peter talked him down, reminding him that big trees are for people with families. People who are going to fill the space beneath them with laughter and gifts. 

 

They’re not those guys, they’re two bachelors, for all intents and purposes. Peter keeps his ring on a chain beneath his shirt when he’s at work, because he can’t think to answer the questions wearing it might cause. Like who’s the guy that comes a couple times a week to watch him tend bar, if he has a husband at home waiting for him? He only takes it off the chain before bed, when he’s alone and he can think of Tony without an audience to see him cry.

 

If he makes it back to New York, he’s never letting that man out of his sight again. He has a calendar on his wall that counts down the days to milestones. The day he and Tony fell in love. Their anniversary, or what will be their anniversary, one day. The day he gets to go back and hope he hasn’t changed too much for Tony to still want him.

 

But, it’s Christmas today, and Peter’s not going to think about any of that. He slides his ring off his finger and onto it’s chain, then picks up the gift he’d gotten for Stephen and carries it with him into the living room. “Merry Christmas,” he says gruffly, handing over the square box with the red paper and green bow.

 

A DVD sized box is wrapped, sans a bow, in gold paper, resting on the table in Peter’s spot. Beside it is a stack of pancakes waiting for Peter as well, Stephen looking surprised when he sees that Peter got him a gift, too. “Merry Christmas,” he says, taking the gift and waiting for Peter to sit down before he starts on his own pancakes.

 

Peter drops into the chair, resting his chin in  his hand as he eats the pancakes one handed. “These are good, Doc. Thanks,” he says around a mouthful as he eats, managing his meal in half the time it takes Stephen to eat his. “You want to wait on the gifts, or should I just go?” he asks, looking at the gift, which is almost certainly a DVD. He hadn’t fared much better in the gift department, buying the sorcerer an old leather bound book on the occult that looked like it might be kind of important when he saw it online.

 

“Go ahead,” Stephen says thickly, looking down at his plate as he takes another bite of his food. Right now, he wonders if the lesson the Ancient One wanted him to learn had anything to do with Peter, and what he feels right now. He can’t imagine the lesson doesn’t include the young man in some way. Perhaps this is a test. If so, Stephen wonders if the gift he got him means he passes that test, or has failed miserably in what he was really supposed to do.

 

The DVD seems to be plain, when Peter opens it, unmarked, as if it were some amateur recording of some kind. Stephen takes his last bite of pancake he’s going to have for now, and gives Peter a smile. He picks up his gift from the younger man, unopened, and stands. “Why don’t you just put that in the DVD player, and see what it is? I’m going to be in my room for a bit,” he says, and makes his exit with the gift Peter got him.

 

Puzzled, Peter takes the recording into the living room, and pops it into the player’s tray, then settles in the arm chair and presses play on the remote control. There’s no menu, just a raw video of what appears to be camera 323 in Avengers Tower. His breath hitching, he watches as an older Tony steps into the frame, his tech glasses and gloves in place. He makes a gesture, and a complicated model comes to life. Tony’s mute as he seems to talk himself through an intricate problem within the model, and Peter feels a part of himself come to life. The part that can recognize exactly what the problem is with the model and the part of him that almost forgot how utterly he belongs to Tony Stark. 

 

His eyes fill with tears, as he watches the video, gazing longingly at the man he loves as he moves around the lab, talking his way through the problem with the model. He throws a rubber ball against a wall for a few minutes, then seems to have a eureka moment, dashing back to the model and making the change that Peter could see it needed all along.

 

When it’s done, Peter takes the DVD out of the player and gently tucks it back into its case. Then, he goes back to bed, slides his ring onto his finger, and he doesn’t emerge for the rest of the day.

#

It’s their anniversary, at least sort of. They’ve been stuck in Mexico for a year today, waiting until they can go back. Stephen insists they go out to celebrate, and for once, Peter doesn’t put up a fight. The way he sees it, Doc’s been pretty great, putting up with his morose ass for a year. The least he can do is mark the occasion with him. 

 

So, he puts on a shirt and tie, along with a blazer he found at the store. It’s a far cry from the $3,000 suits he was getting used to, but he still looks pretty good, he thinks, as he looks himself over in the mirror. Especially compared to the Hawaiian print shirts and cargo shorts that have become his standard uniform here in Mexico. The tourists love it when he plays the expatriate beach bum for them. He tells them that he graduated from Columbia and decided a life south of the border is what he really wanted, and they eat it up with a spoon.

 

So far, though, he hasn’t met anybody whose charms he couldn’t resist.

 

Present company included, he thinks, as he walks into the living room to find Stephen waiting for him. Not that Stephen’s been charming, but he must be lonely by now. God knows _ he _ is, but he spends a lot of time with that DVD and his right hand, so it all balances out pretty well.

 

Stephen has on jeans and a nice button down shirt, no tie, the sleeves rolled up over his forearms. He takes in what Peter’s wearing with a quick glance, then offers up a slight smile. “Ready to go?” he asks, rubbing his own hands together thoughtfully. He doesn’t give the younger man compliments, unless it’s to his cooking, or thanking him for cleaning, or praising some handy thing he’s accomplished around the apartment. He’s decided those are perfectly fine things to show appreciation for.  _ Not _ compliments on Peter’s appearance.

 

“Yeah. You got anything in particular you’re in the mood for?” Peter asks him, as they walk out into the night air. There’s a cab waiting for them, but Peter’s content to let the older man take the lead tonight, since he’s the one who wanted to go out. He’s kind of guessing that the Doctor might want to go to the best restaurant in this little beach town, the Friendly Dolphin. The food’s good, the booze is better, but it’s a far cry from the nice restaurants of Manhattan.

 

“I was thinking we’d go to the Friendly Dolphin,” Stephen says, so apparently Peter is a great guesser. “Then, we could go to a bar, and get completely trashed. I haven’t been completely trashed in a long time. I think today is the appropriate day to do it.” When they reach the cab, Stephen reminds himself that they’re not on a date, and rounds the car, not getting Peter’s door for him, just getting his own door on the opposite side. But he does let Peter have the nearest door, so the younger man has less walking to do.

 

“I’m game,” Peter says, looking out the window as the scenery rolls by. The Dolphin is at the top of the highest hill in the town, and the view of the bay and the lights on the water is nothing short of amazing. “Do you like tequila?” he asks absently. “If I drink it fast enough, I can actually get drunk.”

 

“I like it as much as I like anything else alcoholic, I suppose,” Stephen tells him, also looking out his own window. That keeps him from staring at the younger man, who really looks great tonight. Ha. As opposed to all the times Peter doesn’t look fantastic?

 

They reach the restaurant, and goes inside, having their meal with the usual conversations. Like… How’s work going? What sort of new and exciting things are going on in the world of being a doctor? Is Rico doing okay these days? Stephen still hasn’t owned up to breaking the man’s nose and threatening him, but Peter hasn’t asked him point blank, either. Peter’s drinking heavily, while Stephen isn’t drinking at all yet, and when Stephen asks if he should try catching up, Peter assures him he needs the head start, thanks to his spidey stuff keeping him from getting drunk easily.

 

Then they’re off to a bar, picking a quiet, family sort of place, where no one really goes to hit on anybody. There’s karaoke, not that it’s likely either man is going to sing, but it’s fun to listen to and clap for. Peter shows Stephen the proper way to shoot tequila, and after about the fourth round, Stephen is feeling pretty good. Less… guarded.

 

Peter doesn’t want to draw attention by drinking three-to-one shots, and he got a good head start at the bar drinking about three glasses of Scotch over his shrimp. But, he’s still drinking two shots for every one of Stephen’s and dismissing it as a lost bet to the bartender. Finally, by that fourth round, Peter’s feeling pretty good. Nothing actually hurts, which is a miracle in and of itself. 

 

“You know, this was a really great idea, Doc,” Peter tells him, clapping him on the shoulder and squeezing. “Nothing hurts right now, and we’re halfway there, anyway, so fuck it.”

 

Multicolored and hazy eyes look to the hand on his shoulder, before Stephen focuses on the young man’s face. “I’m glad nothing hurts. I was hoping you might get some relief,” he says solemnly, gaze soft on the other man. “Just think. One more year to go, and then you’re free to live your life again.”

 

“Assuming my life still wants me, sure,” he says darkly, ordering a beer, just so he has something to nurse while they talk. “But, you know, I’m not the same. I’m not cheerful and happy. I don’t bound around like a puppy. Do you think I was like a puppy before?”

 

“I don’t really know. I didn’t know you very well, back then,” Stephen expertly dodges the question, also ordering a beer, and lifting it to drink once it’s delivered. “You’re definitely not a puppy now, though.”

 

“I’m not really  _ anything _ now. I’m just this sham of man who goes to work and comes home and drinks too much beer on the beach,” Peter says, and he sounds matter-of-fact about it. “I don’t think Tony’s gonna like me anymore, when we get back. I’ll be older than him, for one thing.”

 

Stephen stares openly at Peter at some point during this conversation, and doesn’t think to look down or away when Peter makes eye contact in return. He thinks about what was said, and has another swig of beer, before saying slowly, “Do you think anyone would give a damn about how much older you are, if they were in love with you? Or whether or not you bound around like a puppy? Or how miserable you are, when any good person would be, when they miss the person they love?”

 

“Maybe not,” Peter says slowly, his mind churning through those words. “But, I think it’s a lot of change to spring on somebody in the span of a couple minutes. And that’s all it’ll be to them, a couple of minutes. And bam!” Peter brings his hands together in a loud clap. “It’s a whole different person from the one you married.”

 

“You mean, like when Tony changed himself into a guy about your age?” Stephen asks, lifting his brows.

 

“Yeah. That was pretty hard,” Peter admits, taking a drink of his beer. “The only reason he didn’t change back was because I was too scared to let him. I guess when the other option is that person being maybe dead, you can get used to things pretty quick. That’s how it worked for me, at least.”

 

“That’s how it’s going to work for him, too. He’s going to see you, and he’s going to be so relieved you’re alive that he won’t judge you, he’s just going to be  _ happy _ ,” Stephen tells Peter. “Besides, I think you’re great, puppy or no puppy. You’re smart, you’re funny…  Well. I hear you crack jokes to customers sometimes, and they laugh. I’d probably laugh too, if I didn’t have a stick up my ass. But you’re smart. And…” he takes a drink of his beer, thinking. “Oh, I said that, didn’t I? Beautiful. You’re fucking beautiful, Peter. And not just on the surface. You’re like a poem that I’d write, if I had a shred of soul in me.”

 

“Wow,” Peter breathes out, looking down to his hands before he takes another drink of his beer. “So, it’s like that, huh?” he asks bluntly, his voice low enough it won’t carry past the sorcerer's ears in the bar.

 

Shame has Stephen looking down at his own hands. He’d been doing so  _ good _ for such a long time. Maybe drinking hadn’t been such a great idea after all. His chest rises in a deep breath, and then he tries for a joke, “Don’t make me use the Time Stone to go back five minutes, and just tell you you’re great at math.”

 

“You don’t get to say something like that to a man, then just take it back,” Peter decides. “So, keep your Time Stone in your pants. Or wherever you keep it when it’s not in that Eye thingie.” He takes a long pull off of his beer and says, “We’ve lived together longer than me and Tony. You live with someone for a while and you either love them or hate them. I don’t hate you, Stephen.”

 

“I don’t hate you, either, Peter,” Stephen says quietly, the way Peter says his given name feeling good. He rolls his beer between his two hands, and looks down at the bottle, thinking about what they just said to each other. “I’m not a Rico,” he says, finally. “I’ll never do anything to you like that.”

 

“I’m not a free man,” Peter says, his voice a little sad. “So, I guess I won’t be either. But, if I was,” Peter turns his head to study the other man, and decides not to finish that sentence. It’s probably better for both of them, if he doesn’t.

 

Stephen keeps staring down at his beer, even when the younger man studies him. Pain. That must have been what the Ancient One wanted him to learn. This kind of pain that he can’t just fix with a scalpel. Maybe there’s more to it than that, but Stephen can’t see it past the hurt in his chest. “It’s funny. This has been the very best year of my life, and the only thing that keeps me from really enjoying it, is the misery it causes me to know it’s the very worst year of yours.”

 

“There have been some good moments,” Peter tell him slowly. “Like hearing you break Rico’s nose against the bar. Or this one. It hurts, but I feel human, and I haven’t felt that in a year.”

 

“What can I do…” Stephen begins, finally looking at the other man again. “...to help you feel okay more often? Because what I’m doing so far, I’m not sure if that’s the right answer. Then again, maybe there isn’t one. I’d openly worship the ground you walk on, if I didn’t know it would only hurt you more.”

 

“I’d let you, if I didn’t know it would only cause you more pain in the end,” Peter admits looking down into his bottle of beer. “Because knowing  _ somebody _ loves me. That makes me feel good. But knowing it hurts  _ you _ , that makes me feel so much worse.”

 

“I think we’re doing this drinking thing all wrong,” Stephen says softly. “We’re supposed to be tossed and singing at this point, not whispering things to each other that makes the heart beat faster, and makes it pump slower all at once.”

 

“Yeah,” Peter says, chancing a look at Stephen. “We’re definitely fucking this up. And the way I see it, we have two options. The first one, we can go home and keep talking, until we pass out or the sun comes up, whichever happens first. Or, the second one...” he pauses, trying to remember the second one. “Oh, yeah. Karaoke.”

 

“I’m not singing, so I guess we’re going home and talking,” Stephen says firmly, or as firmly as one might, when they feel like they’re on a rollercoaster. He tabs them out, and off they go, with Stephen trying to remember all the carefully choreographed movements he makes around Peter on a day to day basis. Like not staring at him. Not opening his doors unless he just happens to be going through them first. Things like that.

 

They make it back to the apartment, and Stephen heads for the fridge, taking out the bottle of tequila there. He goes about setting up shots as Peter chops up a lime, both men deciding that this evening could only be improved upon by the continuation of drinking. Because hasn’t it worked out great so far? Stephen tries not to think too hard on what it might feel like to have Peter’s tongue gliding against his hand instead of the man’s own when they lick up the salt, then down their respective shots, and suck on their limes.

 

Tries, and fails miserably, chewing on a bit of lime pulp in his mouth after he’s bitten down on it. After a moment, as he’s pouring their next shots, he says, “Thank you for wanting to talk to me at all, after what I’ve said to you.”

 

“Thank you for not holding what I can’t say against me,” Peter returns giving his own lime another bite. He’s really trying to keep his own thoughts PG, but it’s been a year since he’s been touched by another human and it’s hard to keep right and wrong straight in his tequila-soaked brain. He might forget, if it wasn’t for the heavy weight of his wedding band, reminding him of what he’d be losing, if he slipped up.

 

“I’d never hold that against you. I don’t expect anything from you, Peter,” Stephen tries to explain himself, frowning down at their shots, before licking his hand and setting up the salt on his skin for the next round. “I hope you know that. I hope you don’t think I’m some kind of monster that would hurt you like that.” He holds up his shot, and waits for Peter to lift his, multicolored eyes watching Peter’s.

 

“I don’t think you’re a monster, Stephen,” Peter says, looking into his eyes as he licks his own hand and sprinkles it with salt. He raises his glass, then they do the shots together Peter still drinking two-to-one to keep up. “I hope tomorrow we’re closer friends than we were today. I hope this doesn’t come between us.”   
  


Stephen bites back a groan when Peter stares at him while licking his hand, just barely managing not to make the noise at all. But the effort makes him swallow hard, and the shot that follows comes as a relief. “Yes, I hope so, too,” he says hoarsely. Fingers drum on the kitchen counter a moment, the older man thinking. “I know I’m not going to make it weird. I’m going to go back to being on my very best behavior. Unless a nose needs smashing for touching you.”

 

Peter throws his head back to laugh at that, staggering back until his shoulders lean against the wall, helping him to stand. “I  _ knew _ you did it, even if you wouldn’t say,” he chortles gleefully, turning glassy eyes to the older man, before the timing of the situation hits him. “But, that was right after we got here. Did you.. Already...?”

 

“You know how I know Tony’s going to still love you?” Stephen asks rhetorically, leaning on the counter as he watches Peter lean against the wall. “Because I knew I did when you vanished. And then I kept loving you, even as you changed. A man doesn’t just stop loving someone for things like growing older, or bouncing less, or parting perfectly shaped lips for American twenties. It just gets worse with time. So, so much worse.”

 

Brown eyes go dark with those words, and Peter lurches the few steps to Stephen, stopping when they’re practically toe to toe. He stares hard for a moment into his eyes, then, he leans in to press a chaste kiss to Stephen’s forehead. “I need to go to bed,” he says afterward, turning on his heel to stagger into his room.

 

An unsteady breath is exhaled when lips touch his forehead, Stephen’s eyes shutting, soaking in the small token of affection like it’s the biggest deal in the whole world. When Peter speaks and turns on his heel, the older man opens his eyes, and reaches out, fingers touching the other’s man’s wrist, but not quite grabbing it to stop him.

 

The brush of fingers stops him as surely as a hand on his shoulder would have, but he doesn’t turn around, not quite trusting himself to do so. He just waits, waits for Stephen to move or speak, or do whatever he’d foreseen himself doing when he touched him.

 

Peter can hear Stephen pushing himself off the counter, and then strong arms wrap around the younger man from behind. He presses his chest to Peter’s back, left arm curling around the other man’s waist while his right hand presses over his heart. His head bows, and his forehead rests on Peter’s shoulder, before he takes a slow, deep breath of the other man, chest expanding against Peter’s back as he does so.

 

Peter raises his hands slowly, so that they cup the back of Stephen’s. His thumbs stroke across the skin, feeling the mended bones beneath. It’s a reminder of this man’s pain in life, pain that he’s contributing to, however much he doesn’t mean to. He wants to turn and take this man into his arms, to at least give him a proper hug, but he can’t trust himself not to do more, so he stays still, just letting Strange hug his fill.

 

#

 

A year later, and everything’s packed in the apartment Stephen has shared with Peter for about two years. The pair have gotten closer, but never as close as Stephen would wish, if he could wish things into being. 

  
The movers come in to carry the boxes out to the shipping container he arranged to take their stuff back to his home on Bleeker. He’s not sure what he’s going to do with most of it, but he can’t bear to part with it, at least not yet.

 

Taking up his bag with his cloak and the Eye of Agamotto inside it, he hefts the bag over his shoulder and goes off in search of Peter. He finds the young man pacing nervously, wringing his hands and worrying at his wedding ring, which is off its chain and back home on his finger.

 

“Mr. Stark’s just gonna be happy to see me, right?” he asks for the dozenth time. “He’s not gonna be mad that I’m older or not as nice as I used to be. He’s not gonna be mad that I flirted for tips for two years, cause I never did anything. Not even a little bit.”

 

“He’s going to be so grateful you’re alive. You’ll see,” Stephen tells Peter quietly, wrapping an arm around the younger man in a half hug, and bowing his head to the top of Peter’s briefly. They’d become occasional huggers, at least with each other. It was a bit of affection that seemed to be allowable, after the night Stephen told Peter he loved him.

 

“I don’t think I can do this, Doc,” Peter says, turning wild eyes at him. “Maybe I should call him or something, first. So it’s not a shock. Do you think he’s gonna wanna postpone the wedding again? ‘Cause we’ve done it before.”

 

Stephen stares calmly into those wild eyes, a patient hand smoothing down Peter’s back, then up again, before it falls away. “I think watching you vanish is going to be the shock. Watching you appear again behind him? That’s going to be the best feeling in the world.” He smiles for Peter, adding in the next breath, “He’ll marry you, in front of everyone. Tell him what happened, and he won’t dream of making you wait anymore.”

 

“Okay,” Peter takes a deep breath and raises a shaking hand to Stephen’s shoulder. “It might not be really nice of me to ask this, and I know it’s short notice, but will you be my co-best man? I can’t tell Ned he doesn’t get to be best man, but you’re who I’d really want to stand up with me.”

 

Ah, oh Ancient One. Does the lesson never end?

 

Stephen’s smile does not falter. “I would be honored to be your best man, Peter Stark.”

 

“It’s so weird to hear that again. I got used to being Peter Parker, and now... Wow.” He lets his hand drop to pick up his backpack with his Spider Suit in it and slings it over his shoulder. “Okay. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, Doc.”

 

“So am I,” Stephen says quietly, and makes the motions with his hands to throw a portal up into the air. As he did that first day, he takes Peter by the wrist, and then steps through with him, stepping into that fateful alley in New York City, so very close to where Team Stark and the Ancient One wait for them.

 

“Hey, Doc?” Peter asks, nervous once again. “I know Mr. Stark isn’t gonna tell me to get lost, but if he does, can I stay on your couch for a while? Just, you know, until I get a place?”

 

Ah, just a dash of something horrible to hope for, so there can be more pain? Ancient One, could the lessons maybe come to a close now?

 

“Of course, Peter,” Stephen says, his hand slowly releasing the younger man’s wrist, fingers brushing the back of his hand in the process. He’s not sure why this moment feels like goodbye, when they have their whole lives ahead of them. It’ll be going back to the way it needs to be, for Peter to be happy. Stephen is certain he’ll see the young man as often as is appropriate.

 

“I suppose I’m choosing sides, now,” Stephen adds. “I can’t imagine I’d want a thing to do with the Avengers anymore, after what they did to you.”

 

Peter throws his arms around Stephen, hugging him tightly, then pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thanks, Stephen,” he says hoarsely, looking into those multicolored eyes for a moment before the sudden silence of the battle signals that Stephen must have arrived to talk to the Ancient One. “Is it time?”

 

“Should be any minute now. We could go ahead and get closer, if you like, so we can see what’s going on. Just… not so close you tip off your former self’s spider senses,” he advises. His cheek feels good, where Peter kissed it. His body feels good from the hug. And all the pain, it’s just worth it, isn’t it?

 

The pair move quietly into place, hiding behind cars that were parked and abandoned when the fighting broke out. Then, Peter disappears and after a long moment, so does Stephen and the Ancient One.

 

#

 

Tony has gone insane at this point. He sees red, blasting holes into the pavement where the Ancient One had stood, now that there’s no shield from Strange in his way. The downside is, of course, that there’s nothing to shoot at anymore. “Where in the  _ fuck _ did they go?” he snarls over the comm, everyone looking around where they stand, as if that’s going to be any help.

 

Rhodie is eventually the one that flies closer to Tony. “Tony. They’re gone, but we’re going to find them,” he says, even if he’s not sure how he’s going to keep his word on that one. The Ancient One had Dr. Strange kneeling at her feet. They both had Time Stones. It’s not looking too good, really.

 

“Okay, so we find them. Now,” Tony bites out, fighting back tears. Peter can’t be gone. He just  _ can’t _ be gone.

 

Well behind them, Stephen can see the anguish on Tony’s face, but it doesn’t compare to the pure joy on Peter’s, next to him.

 

“Tony!” Peter screams out, running as fast as his sandalled feet will carry him. He jumps over the hood of a car that’s in his way, hurling himself closer with every step. When he finally reaches him, he throws himself on him, arms and legs wrapping around him without a care for the bruises that practically tackling the Iron Man suit are sure to leave behind. “It’s you. It’s really you,” Peter sobs, pressing his forehead against Tony’s shoulder because he’s seriously losing his shit right now and doesn’t want the other man to see him cry.

 

The suit covered arms carefully curl around Peter, and Tony stands there, stunned. He could tell even from the distance Peter ran to him, despite the blur of movement, that the other man had changed. His hair is longer, shaggy even. His usually pale skin has a tan. And the way Strange stares at them as the man walks closer to the group, like he’s lived through hell. Or maybe he’s just seeing hell right now, before his eyes. Tony swallows hard, and lets the Iron Man suit seemingly fold away into nothing, his arms catching Peter before the man can fall too much from the shift, tightening around him. “I’m here, Peter,” Tony says softly.

 

“I can’t believe I get to see you again,” Peter says hoarsely, his head still bowed, so Tony can’t see the tears that are plain in his voice. “It felt like I never would, and now you’re here. Wait,” he pulls back, his expression becoming more guarded, as a wave of fear and cynicism wash over him. “What if things didn’t work out right this time around. What’s happening two days from now?”

 

“You’re going to marry me, and I’m going to marry you. Again. But, you know, this time it’ll be more public, and hopefully much less exciting in the bad way where we have to deal with yet another bad guy,” Tony babbles a little, not really understanding what’s going on completely. Sure, he gets that this Peter is older, is different, all that. Just, he doesn’t know how much older, or how different. “Unless you want to postpone the wedding because you just got shot back through time and had to come back the long way?” he asks hoarsely.

 

Relief makes Peter’s knees fail, and he slides down as far as Tony’s arms will allow him, sobbing. “No. I don’t want that,” Peter chokes out. “I’ve been waiting a really long time for this.”

 

While Peter sobs, and Tony comforts him and Team Stark looks on, Stephen stares down at his own hands in silence. He touches gently at the Eye of Agamotto, and thinks about what it might be like to go back, and relive the past two years again. Would he change anything? Would he try to win Peter for himself?

 

He almost does it. Almost uses the stone for his own selfish desires, but then he remembers the promise he made to Peter. He’s going to be one of Peter’s best men at his wedding.

 

How strangely… fitting.

 

 

 

**A/N: Whew. It's been a marathon of writing over here, and we're posting about as soon as we finish a chapter. This one might not be quite as polished, because I was dozing off at my keyboard while I was proof-reading! Here are the bumps we promised, and the story takes a turn. Again, here's hoping we haven't lost any of you lovelies.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And back to our regularly scheduled Starker, but not without some angst.

 

While Peter sobs and Tony tries to comfort him with a look that is close to confusion, Stephen moves closer, lowering his voice to speak directly to Tony. “Perhaps Peter would be more comfortable back at Stark Tower,” he prompts the other man, because he knows how much Peter hates it when he shows heavy emotion in front of other people.

 

That has Tony nodding, strong arms carrying Peter as his husband sobs. Soon enough they’re all back at the Tower, with everyone going to their respective areas, except Stephen doesn’t have one. And he finds himself at his most protective, now that he really should be leaving Peter alone with Tony. Instead of doing that, he follows after them into the penthouse, and Tony doesn’t seem to mind, because the man probably has questions to ask.

 

“How long?” Tony does in fact ask, smoothing Peter’s hair as he sits down in a chair and settles Peter into his lap, watching Strange. “How long was this for you two? It was only a minute or so for me.”

 

“Two years,” Stephen tells Tony, settling on the couch across from the chair, folding his hands over his flat stomach.

 

“It was a long time, Mr. Stark,” Peter sniffles mournfully as he watches Stephen, like the man is his lifeline. “We lived in Mexico.”

 

It’s not just the information Tony takes in, but the way Peter looks at Strange, and the way Strange watches over Peter like he’s… Protecting him. It’s all of that, that has Tony asking quietly next, “So, you two lived together for two years, right?” He doesn’t wait for the answer. “Were you lovers?”

 

Peter goes ashen faced at the question and stares down at his hands. “No,” he says hoarsely, his throat tight, like maybe he’s going to be sick. “No, we never were.”

 

“Then why is Strange looking at you like… whatever the hell I could even call that look?” Tony says as if he’s asking Peter, but he’s looking at Strange as he says it, waiting for the man to answer him instead.

 

“I love him,” Stephen says simply. “I love him, and if you punish him for that, I’ll-”

 

The threat is cut off by Peter climbing quickly out of Tony’s lap and rushing for the closest bathroom. The door slams shut and there’s the sound of retching for long minutes while Peter heaves. When he’s finished, he sits with his back to the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest.

 

He’s a grown man for chrissakes. Why’s he in the bathroom puking his guts out over  _ stress _ when there’s more important shit to talk about? The mental chastising does nothing to stop the roiling of his stomach or make him ready to go out and face the other two men.

 

“Knock, or I’m knocking,” Stephen tells Tony. They’ve been standing outside the bathroom door the entire time.

 

“I was about to fucking knock, you prick,” Tony snarls, before clearing his throat, and knocking politely on the bathroom door. “Are you okay in there, kid? Didn’t fall in the toilet, right? Because, you know, we don’t hear anything anymore, and we’re starting to worry.”

 

“Yeah, Mr. Stark. I’m okay,” Peter replies with a rising note of hysteria in his voice. Tony hates him. He thinks he  _ slept _ with Doc.

 

Stephen opens the door, and Tony ducks under the taller man’s arm, darting ahead of him and into the bathroom. He drops down in front of Peter, and leans in, peering at his face. “Hey. It’s okay. Everything is okay now. You’re home.”

 

“That’s not his concern,” Stephen tells Tony, struggling for patience. “He thinks you hate him, now. That was his biggest fear, that you wouldn’t want him when he returned to you.”

 

“What? No, I don’t hate Peter!” Tony rushes to say, looking from Strange and back to his husband. “I could never hate you, Peter. I mean, seriously. You could do anything and I wouldn’t hate you. I just asked really stupid questions a few minutes ago so I can get a complete picture of what’s going on here.”

 

Peter nods, and drags himself to his feet. “I need to brush my teeth. Give me a second. I have my toothbrush in my bag.”

 

“Okay,” Tony says, straightening back to his feet after that. He watches Peter trudge off, and then levels Strange with a stare.

 

“Smooth,” Stephen comments with a faint smirk.

 

“Fuck you. If you were so slick, he wouldn’t be in love with me anymore,” Tony fires back, stalking out of the bathroom and into the living room to sit down.

 

Stephen considers, then follows after Peter instead.

 

Tony’s eyes widen like saucers as he watches the tall man disappear into the bedroom, presumably to the bathroom where Peter is brushing his teeth. He decides against stalking after the man to see what’s going on, but he is definitely sitting quietly, so he can try to hear things. He’s probably not close enough, though. It’s a big penthouse. Damn, being rich!

 

Stephen knocks on the bathroom door, and Peter calls him in. The man enters, then shuts the door behind him. He doesn’t lock it, though, because locking Iron Man out of any room is a great way to get a door blown to bits. “How are you holding up, Peter?” Stephen asks quietly.

 

“Look, water from the faucet you can actually brush your teeth with,” Peter says, motioning to the sink. “Been a while since I’ve seen that.” He sighs and looks down at his toothbrush. “It’s all different, now. I don’t know how to start.”   
  


Stephen smiles slightly as Peter points out the drinkable water, then he speaks quietly again. “It’ll all sort itself out, after I’ve left you two alone. I just… Needed to make sure you’d be okay. He clearly loves you. All your fears were for nothing.”

 

“I don’t want you to go,” Peter says quietly. “I’m scared, without you. But, I guess I have to let you live your life, too, huh? You can’t be at my beck and call forever,” he looks up to the taller man with a sad smile. “I ask too much of you, as it is. I’m a selfish little spider.”   
  


Careful fingers lift, and sift through shaggy hair. He’s always wondered what it might be like to caress the strands. He’s not sure why this moment felt like the right moment to allow himself the agony. “You are my life, Peter. I don’t imagine there will be a moment that will come to pass where I won’t be at your beck and call, should you will it,” Stephen says hoarsely, fingers falling away from his hair, only to trace down a tear stained cheek.

 

Peter throws himself into Stephen’s arms, hugging his friend fiercely. “I love you, Stephen,” he says hoarsely, because it feels like this might actually be his last chance to say it. To say the actual words, instead of telling him he doesn’t hate him. How strange that it should be now, when Tony’s out front waiting for him, rather than during the two years they were each other’s best friends and confidants.

 

Strong arms wrap around Peter, and the older man takes in a sharp breath when those words are said to him. A hand comes up to cup the back of Peter’s head, stroking his hair with exceedingly careful motions, while his other hand rubs up and down his back. “I love you, too, Peter,” Stephen says thickly. He swallows hard, then turns his head, and presses a soft kiss to the younger man’s temple.

 

Peter soaks in that kiss, then leans back. “We should get back out front, before Tony decides we’re up to no good and blows the door off the hinges,” he says quietly.

 

Stephen nods, and slowly slides his hands off of Peter. Then he opens the door for the younger man, and waits for him to step through it. It feels good, giving himself the freedom to get the door for Peter. He follows along at a short distance from the younger man, watching as Peter walks back to where Tony sits.

 

Tony looks apprehensive as he watches the two men come back, swallowing hard as he looks from Peter to Strange, then back to Peter. He stands, dark eyes staring into Peter’s. “I’m just glad I didn’t lose you forever, Peter Stark. I’m so sorry you lost me, for awhile there.”

 

“I had to live through a year of you and Pepper,” Peter says woodenly, staring at the ground by his feet. “It was kind of hard to avoid, even in Mexico. You were all over the tv. Last year was easier. The past few months, knowing you knew  _ us _ but not being able to come to you. That was tough.”

 

“I love you so much,” Tony tells Peter hoarsely. He takes in a couple of deep breaths. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that. I’m just so grateful you’re alive.” He tears his gaze off of Peter, and glances at Strange. “Hell, I’m even grateful you didn’t have to live alone. Didn’t have to go through all that alone.”

 

“Yeah, me, too. That would have sucked.” Peter backtracks a couple of steps to the couch and sinks down on it, feeling like he’s in shock right now. “Ask me questions, Tony. Whatever you want to know. I think I can answer questions, but I don’t think I can just tell it straight.”

 

Stephen does Tony a favor, and steals his chair, leaving Tony to naturally move to sitting on the couch near his husband.

 

Tony doesn’t quite understand why there’s this chasm between him and Peter. Sure, Strange said he loves Peter, but so what? What’s not to love about Peter? Any hot blooded person would love Peter, especially after spending so much time with him. Peter’s amazing.

 

“What am I doing wrong?” Tony asks, even though he knows that’s not what Peter meant by questions. “Because I want to do whatever I can right, so I don’t feel like you’re sand slipping through my fingers.”

 

Tony may be onto something with that analogy, because Peter feels it too, even though he didn’t know it until he said as much. “I don’t know,” he whispers softly. “Maybe you could kiss me. You haven’t done that yet. And I haven’t kissed you in so long.” There’s more than a little fear with the words, because what if that doesn’t work? This moment has been the focal point of Peter’s being for so long, and it’s not going the way he’d hoped, at all.

 

No pressure, right? Tony nods, and cups Peter’s face with a lightly calloused hand, thumb going to his chin to tip it just right to set soft lips up for a kiss. Then he leans in, closing his eyes as their lips touch, a mental,  _ oh God, please,  _ forming in his head as he begins to kiss Peter. Fingers push into shaggy hair, and tighten at the back of his head, Tony’s body knowing what to do, even when he feels lost, and scared. It shows in the way he growls as the taste of Peter’s mouth hits his system, tongue taking what’s his in long, slow, thorough thrusts.

 

Perhaps if Stephen were a man less into his own suffering, he would have politely looked away from that kiss. Instead, he watches for a long moment, and lets it sink in. This is happening. This is the present. This will be their future. And, just as he said, everything is starting to fall into place. With that thought in mind, he rises from the chair, and heads for the elevator, hoping to give Peter and Tony alone time.

 

The kiss is different from what he remembers, but it’s good. Heat rises in Peter’s cheeks as Tony claims his mouth with those long strokes of his tongue, but he breaks the kiss when Stephen rises to leave. He wants to beg him to stay, but doing so would only hurt both men, so he watches him leave with sad eyes, then rests his head on Tony’s shoulder to catch his breath when it feels like he can’t draw one in.

 

Stephen can feel those sad eyes on him, but he doesn’t look back. He tells himself it’s so he doesn’t punch Tony into a time vortex, but, really, maybe Stephen’s just a coward. The same coward he’s been for the past two years. He steps into the elevator, presses the button, and lets the doors shut him out of the situation.

 

Tony watches with a sinking sort of feeling in his stomach as Peter gives Strange that look. Like Peter’s a puppy, and his person is leaving. That person used to be Tony. Sure, maybe it still is him, in a way, judging by the way Peter had raced down the street to leap on him when he got back, but that’s what a puppy does, when they see former friends as much as they do their owners. His hand gentles in Peter’s hair as the man rests his head on his shoulder and catches his breath, petting the shaggy strands.

 

“So, should I let him leave the building before I go running after him for you, or do you think it’s a dumb idea, because he’s probably done his sparkly portal thing by now anyway?” Tony asks, being braver than he really feels at this moment.

 

“He won’t use a portal out of here,” Peter says certainly. “He’ll want the time to think before he gets home.” He slides a little closer, wrapping an arm around Tony’s waist to hold him close. He’s really fucking this up, if Tony’s ready to leave and dump him on Stephen.

 

“So… should I?” Tony repeats, just doing the short version of the question, even as strong arms pull Peter that much closer. “Because if you want a pet sorcerer, I could get used to it. You’ll have to clean up after him and feed him yourself, though,” Tony tells him in a voice that he’s proud of for being so steady. It’s just that… Tony’s a genius. He sees where this is going, if he doesn’t think to make some compromises.

 

“No. Doc’s not a pet,” Peter says softly. “I don’t think it would be very fair of me to make him watch us together. And that’s still what I want, Tony. Us. Like we used to be, if I can remember what I was like for you.” It’s all so far away, and all he feels right now are the ways he’s different.

 

Well, there goes that tidy little solution. Guess they’ll be doing this the slow, painful death of their relationship way, then. Tony puts on a smile that doesn’t touch his eyes, but Peter can’t see it anyway, not with his head on his shoulder. “You’re doing great so far, Peter Stark. I’m just glad you’re back.”

 

“Say my name again,” Peter begs, as the sound of it makes his heart stutter again. “I haven’t heard it in so long,” his voice breaks. “And it sounds so perfect when you say it.”

 

“Peter Stark, my husband,” Tony says softly, a hand petting Peter’s hair ever so gently and carefully. Granted, he didn’t have to wait two years for Peter to return to him, but that couple of minutes he was gone? And he didn’t know if he was dead, or alive and lost, or anything? That had felt like forever.

 

Peter throws himself into kissing Tony, his hands cupping his jaw, then sliding down his neck to rest over his heart. The arc reactor warms his palm and Peter opens his mouth to Tony with a suck to his tongue that feels  _ good _ . “I love you, Tony. I love you, and I never want to be apart from you again,” he says desperately, when their lips part.

 

The reminder that this has been a long time for Peter, and he’d naturally want to stay close to Tony now, has Tony thinking. “I love you, too, Peter Stark,” he tells Peter quietly. He slouches back on the couch, then lifts Peter up by the hips settling him into his lap in a straddle. Hands smooth over his hips slowly, and then he asks, “Where in Mexico did you live? I mean, what was the place like?”

 

“It was a little tourist town on the Sea of Cortez,” Peter says, smiling fondly, when he thinks about all the time he spent on the beach. “Doc got it fixed up, so he could practice medicine down there and I tended bar at a beach club. I’m pretty good at mixing drinks now, if you’re thirsty, Mr. Stark.” He thinks for a few seconds. “Right after we got there, the owner, Rico, was kind of handsy and I was too dead inside to stand up for myself. Doc broke his nose, but he didn’t tell me about it. Not for a year. I mean, I knew what he did, but he didn’t say a word about it. Rico left me alone, after that. And I just... coasted through two years. No challenges, no Spider Man. Just me and that bar.”

 

That’s a lot of information to take in, but Tony relishes in it, letting the words paint a picture for him. The thing that sticks out the most, he comments on first, his voice quiet, fingers carding through Peter’s hair. “Now, when you say he broke Rico’s nose, did Strange, like, punch him in the face all cowboy, or did he make the guy trip while he pretended to read a newspaper?”

 

Peter chuckles at that, “It  _ sounded _ like he pounded his face against the bar, but I had my back turned.”

 

“You know what? Pounding the guy’s face into the bar sounds even cooler than the cowboy option. Actually, I’m pretty sure cowboys in westerns did that, too,” Tony says with a pleased grin for the chuckle he inspires. “I like that he kept that guy from hurting you. He wins at least a million internets for that.”

 

“I was pretty good at deflecting him, but things were starting to escalate. I probably would have lost the job, if it hadn’t been for Doc taking up for me like that. And that would have sucked, because the money was pretty good there. I got really good tips. You wouldn’t believe how many phone numbers I threw away, Mr. Stark.”

 

“I believe it. You’re a little hottie Mc Hot-Hot,” Tony pipes up, watching Peter with a proud expression on his face. “What’s the biggest tip you ever got?” he’s asking next, liking how these questions and this conversation seems to be relaxing Peter.

 

“$500 for pouring a shot of tequila, but I was flirting like crazy for it,” Peter recalls with a grin. “It was this older lady, who was dropping hundreds all over the place, and one of the guys bet me I couldn’t get a $300 tip out of her. I lost that phone number  _ hard _ , but she came back a few nights in a row. Doc finally showed up to hang out at the end of the bar and give her the evil eye.”

 

“Sounds like she got off easy, if he didn’t break her nose,” Tony drawls, stealing a quick kiss. He just keeps petting Peter’s hair, and thinking on what else he might ask. “What did you do to stay in such great shape?”

 

“Nothing,” he replies sheepishly, looking down at his body. “I drank a lot of beer on a lot of beaches. There wasn’t much I  _ could _ do, outside of a regular gym. No Spider Man, no flips, no flying through the air on a web. Just a little cardio and a lot of beer. It’s going to take me forever to get back into fighting shape,” his goes red in the face, all the way to the ears with the admission. “I rode the mechanical bull a lot, though. That was pretty decent exercise, I guess, when it was on high.”

 

“A mechanical bull?” Tony asks, sounding impressed. He traces a red ear gently with his fingertips. “Did you win any prizes? And did Strange ride the bull, too, or was he more a guy that watched you ride the bull, while giving everyone that threw money at you dirty looks?”

 

Peter laughs again. “Yeah, a few, then they stopped me from entering the tournaments, because it wasn’t fair to the tourists. I would ride in exhibition though, and Doc won a few, too. He’s hard to throw, once he gets a good grip.”

 

Tony smiles, pleased with himself for making Peter laugh. “Did you learn how to cook Mexican food while you were there?” A hand reaches for one of Peter’s, lacing their fingers.

 

“Yeah. I guess that was my biggest hobby, while I was gone. I just cooked all the Mexican dishes I could find. I’m not too bad at it. And I make the best guacamole  _ ever _ .” Peter dips his head, kissing their joined fingers. He’s feeling better, the more he talks, but the day is also starting to catch up to him. “Hey, Mr. Stark? Do you think we could continue this conversation in bed? I-” his voice thickens to the point he has to stop to clear his throat. “I want to be home. With you.”

 

Tony nods, and gently lifts Peter out of his lap and onto his feet, moving to his own feet as well against the other man. He smooths his hair a moment, staring into his eyes, and then kisses him  deeply, though he does so slowly once more. Once Peter’s left panting against him, he takes the other man’s hand and laces their fingers again, and murmurs, “Welcome home, Peter Stark.” He tugs him toward the bedroom, and they tumble into bed together, talking until they fall asleep, Peter wrapped up tightly in Tony’s arms.

  
  
  


#

  
  


The house on Bleecker Street, otherwise known as Sanctum Sanctorum. Doctor Strange makes his way inside from Tony’s Tower, feeling numb. This is the culmination of all his hard work to do right by Peter. Now Peter is happy, and with Tony again. So why does Strange feel like he’s had his heart pulled out of his chest?

 

The tall man makes his way up to the second floor, where his bedroom waits for him. It’s exactly the way he left it, when the past him got up this morning. The bed is neatly made. Nothing is amiss. Stephen moves to sit on the edge of the bed, and remove his shoes. It’s only the afternoon, but Stephen feels exhausted. He lies back on the bed, not bothering with the covers, and closes his eyes, hands folded over his chest.

 

Some time later, the sound of things being moved in the kitchen alerts Stephen to another person’s presence in the house. He goes down the stairs, only to find the Ancient One, calmly preparing tea.

 

“Did you rest well?” she asks him, without looking away from the tray with the tea kettle and other accoutrements on it.

 

Pain is plain on Stephen’s face, his voice tight as he speaks. “Yes, Ancient One.” Not for the first time in his life, he feels fear at the sight of her. Granted, he hasn’t been afraid since that first time they met and she threw him through all of time and several multiverses. Compared to what he’s just endured with Peter, he’d take another one of those trips, instead.

 

“Good,” she says simply, pouring his tea and handing him the cup. “I was pleasantly surprised to find you didn’t reorganize the kitchen when you moved in,” she says conversationally. “Making the tea is far easier, when you know where the ingredients are located.”

 

“I didn’t imagine I could improve upon anything,” Stephen tells her, taking the cup with a quiet, “Thank you.” He blows on the contents, then takes a slow drink. A part of him wants to barrage her with questions, but most of him is simply… Resigned. His lesson was clearly loving Peter, and all the pain that came along with not allowing himself to have him, because it wasn’t the right thing to do.

 

“You aren’t as resigned as you imagine,” the Ancient One says, wrapping long-fingered hands around the cup. “You are angry and confused. You have questions.” It’s as much of a prompt as she’s ever likely to give him.

 

Stephen sinks into a chair at the kitchen table, and tries to work past the numb to feel the anger underneath. The confusion is easier to access, but the pain is there, as fresh as it ever was, when he stops lying to himself long enough about being numb at all. Maybe he’s just… He doesn’t know.

 

“Why?” Stephen asks the Ancient One, the question as broad as the situation. There’s so much to ask. And he can’t imagine anything she says will make him feel an understanding that gives him peace.

 

“ _ You _ were becoming inhuman,” she tells him, as if that explains everything. “And that is very bad for this reality.”

 

Oh, there’s the anger. It narrows Stephen’s eyes, and has him very slowly putting his cup of tea down on the table. “You, of course, realize what this has done to Peter. He will  _ never _ be the young man he was two years ago.”

 

The Ancient One’s serene expression falters for just a moment, before she speaks. “The lesson was necessary, Dr. Strange. Things would have gone worse for him, if the course of reality had not been corrected.”

 

Stephen wants to hold onto that anger, but it fades with the Ancient One’s words. He resumes drinking his tea, brooding over this information. “I would not want things to be worse for Peter. He has gone through enough.” The pain may not be over for Stephen, but he’s certain Peter has everything he wants, now.

 

“Yes. Young Peter is at the center of so many threads. He hasn’t had an easy life, nor will he,” she says, and her face is troubled as she speaks. For all that she may seem cold, she is sensitive to the pain and suffering of others, mitigating it when she can, and only augmenting it when necessary.

 

“What can I do to make his life easier?” Stephen asks suddenly. Fate knows he’s tried to do exactly that, for the past two years. Perhaps he’s asking something he shouldn’t. Perhaps he can’t know about this future. But she prompted him his questions, and he’s giving them to her.

 

“You already know the answer to that, Doctor,” she says with sympathy in her voice. “He needs you. He will for a long time. You’ve chosen to bind your life to his and that brings both benefits and consequences for you both.”

 

“Why him?” Stephen asks her, pain plain in his voice again. “Why not someone that I could have allowed myself to have? Would the lesson not have been learned just as easily?”

 

“There are a thousand people I would have chosen for you, over young Peter.” The Ancient One locks her eyes with him over the rim of her cup. “ _ I _ didn’t choose him.”

 

“Me?” Stephen asks softly, stunned. And then he remembers his words to Peter. How he knew he loved him the moment the Ancient One had made him disappear. Which means he must have chosen him to love before that moment, he just hadn’t realized it yet. Shame sinks deep inside him, and he lowers his eyes. “I see.”

 

“You do not. Your love is not something to be ashamed of, however it came to be or whoever you choose to gift it to,” the Ancient One explains to him. “Young Peter will need you, before this is all over. He’ll be better off for your love. So will anybody else you choose to give it to.”

 

“I would give anything to him,” Stephen swears it softly. “What will he need of me, before this is all over?”

 

“Would you like some more tea, Doctor?” she asks him softly, a serene smile telling him that she’s unable to give him that answer.

 

“No, thank you. I still have plenty,” Stephen replies. 

 

“Yes. You do,” she says, meaningfully.

 

And so they sit quietly, Stephen enjoying her company, as he always has. This is a rare gift, spending time with her. She died years back, after all.

  
  


#

  
  


Peter wakes slowly, confusion adling his still-sleepy brain. As his eyes slit open, he looks around the room, recognizing it immediately, even if this is the first time he’s woken up in it in two years. There’s a familiar warmth in the bed next to him and he closes his eyes before he speaks in a sleep-rough voice.

 

“How long have I been asleep?” It’s been a few days since he was able to sleep, with the nervousness of his return eating away at both his conscious and his subconscious. Now he has no idea what time it may be or even what day. 

 

“Six hours,” Tony murmurs, fingers moving through Peter’s shaggy hair slowly. He’s been at that for the past thirty minutes, having liked the little noises his husband makes in his sleep from the attention.

 

“I really made it home,” Peter says, wonder tinting his voice. He rolls onto his side, so he can stare at his husband, eyes going to the ring on his hand with a relieved smile. “I didn’t break time, by accident.”

 

“I guess I wouldn’t know, if you had,” Tony whispers, the gravity of that reality really hitting him hard. He looks to the ring on his hand as well, and thumbs it a little. His ring is so shiny and new, while Peter’s has a worn gloss to it. He collects his hand, and kisses that ring, dark eyes staring at his husband’s. “We have a wedding to get ready for.”

 

“Yeah. The rehearsal dinner is tonight and the bachelor’s parties,” he realizes with a start. “Oh. I asked Doc to be a co-best man. Think we can work that in?” Peter sits up on one hand, using the other to wipe the sleep from his eyes. “Also, I’m a little intimidated by your bachelor party. I think Ned is planning Dungeons and Dragons.”

 

“Rhodey has lost his mind with my party, yeah, pretty much,” Tony agrees, thinking of all the strippers and other awesomeness that the man has alluded to. “And we need to get Strange fitted for a tux. Then I need to throw a LOT of money at a tailor to get it done in time. But I’m Tony Stark, so that’s not a problem.”

 

“Sorry ‘bout the short notice,” Peter says, feeling a little bit guilty for being jealous at how cool Tony’s party sounds. “I’d have given you more, except, well, you know.”

 

“You gonna kick his ass into gear for getting fitted and going to the rehearsal dinner, or should I? Because he’s really more your friend,” Tony points out, before shrugging a shoulder. “And. Yeah. I know,” he says quietly.

 

“Okay. Cell phone.” Peter says, looking around for his bag. “I guess I have two of those now. But, the only people who have the number for the Mexican one are Doc and Rico. I’ve got one of those switchy color block games on there that I’ve been playing for a couple years now. Maybe I can transfer the data to my other phone.”

 

“Google Skynet should have your back on that one. Just sign into your Google account with it, now that you won’t alert yourself or whatever precautions you must have taken.” Tony Stark, awesome-o tech support. He stretches, and watches as Peter looks around for his bag, before he sees it first and grabs it, setting it on the bed beside his husband. “Here,” he murmurs.

 

“I wasn’t always careful,” he says, a little shamefaced. “I couldn’t stand it, that first Christmas. I missed you so bad, and I  _ knew _ I didn’t call to check in with you that day. So I called and pretended to be the younger me.” Peter stares down at his hands remembering that conversation. It had been a mixed blessing, with hearing his husband’s voice, but being rushed off the phone, because he was just some annoying kid.

 

Stunned eyes stare at Peter’s. Christmas two years ago? He was with Pepper. He strains his brain to remember the conversation, because, now, he knows it was so very important. After a moment, it filters in. He’d been busy decorating some last minute stuff, trying to impress Pepper. He’d barely listened to anything Peter had said, lots of, ‘Uh-huhs,’ and, ‘That’s great, kid,’ just to get rid of him while he directed some guys to bring in a giant stuffed animal. Because apparently he thought Pepper loved those. Tony swallows hard, and whispers, “I’m so sorry, Peter.”

 

“It’s fine. I was just some babbling kid. You had a life. I didn’t expect more,” Peter shrugs, and clears his throat with a long sniff. “You think we can get a haircut for me? I know they say no haircuts within a week of the big event, but people might wonder what’s up, if I’m suddenly shaggy. And I want to look good for you.”

 

It helps Tony recover from the shock of what he did without knowing it, when Peter babbles a little. He clears his throat, then speaks. “I didn’t know about that rule. I totally got a haircut yesterday,” Tony points out. “So if anyone’s to blame for bad wedding juju, it’ll be me.”

 

“No bad wedding juju. We already had that,” Peter says softly, climbing out of the bed and stretching. Apparently, push ups are no long a part of his morning routine, but he rummages through his bag, looking for the phone he should be using and finding it dead. Of course. It’s been two years. “It’s dead,” he explains to Tony, tossing it to the foot of the bed and grabbing the Mexican phone to dial Doc.

 

At this point, Stephen has slept, had tea with the Ancient One, and gone grocery shopping, where he bought  _ Dos Equis _ to put in his fridge. Over time, it just became the beer he drank, when he drank beer at all. Maybe he’s sentimental, since it was the beer Peter handed to him on that first trip to the club Peter worked at in Mexico.

 

Still having his Mexican phone in his pocket, Stephen grabs it, and answers the call, “Yes, Peter?” Because of course it’s Peter. It wouldn’t be anyone else. Stephen didn’t exactly make any friends, either, in Mexico.

 

“So, I asked a really big favor earlier, and if you changed you mind, it’s totally cool. But, if you’re still willing to be a best man, I need to get you fitted for a tux today,” Peter babbles out, half sure Doc’s just going to hang up on him and turn his phone off.

 

“Where do you need me? I’ll be there,” Stephen tells Peter solemnly. It’s only been six hours or so, but he’s  _ missed _ Peter. It hurts, knowing Peter won’t be coming  _ home _ . At least not to the home they shared. Guess he won’t be, either.

 

“Crap. I don’t know. Hold on a second,” he takes the phone away from his ear to confer with Tony on where to send him. When he has an address, he puts the phone back to his ear and repeats it, then says he’ll text it, too, just in case. “Oh. And there’s a bachelor party tonight. Ned’s throwing it, so it’ll probably be kind of lame, but I’d like it if you were there.”

 

“Absolutely,” Stephen tells him, his heart jumping almost painfully in his chest, it feels so good to get to see Peter at this likely boring party. His voice is level, however. “Text me the address to that, too, please.”

 

“Will do, Doc.” Peter tries to think up something to keep the man on the phone a little longer, but comes up short. Oh. Wait. “And there’s a rehearsal dinner, before the bachelor parties. You can fight Ned over who doesn’t have to make a speech. I’ll text that address, too.”

 

“It sounds like we’re going to be very busy,” Stephen murmurs, a smile in his voice. “Are you excited?”

 

“Kind of. I mean, yeah. It just doesn’t feel real. I’ll be excited later,” Peter babbles a little, moving around the room to pick out clothes to change into, after he’s had a shower.

 

“You will be,” Stephen confirms, his voice quiet, gentle. “Anything else I should know before I go get my fitting done?”

 

“No. I have to get a haircut, or I’d go with you to the fitting. See you tonight, at the rehearsal dinner?” Peter asks hopefully.

 

“Yes. See you tonight, at the rehearsal dinner,” Stephen confirms, before ending the call.

 

Tony is sitting on the bed with his eyes closed, back to the headboard, trying not to listen in on his husband’s conversation with this man that’s madly in love with him. He peeks an eye open when the call ends, figuring out that Peter’s about to have a shower. “Dibs on the shower. You’ll have to share, if you want to go, too,” Tony tells him with a sudden grin, jumping out of bed and wrapping his arms around Peter. He helps himself to a kiss, and just looks generally pleased with himself.

 

There’s a shocked expression on Peter’s face, at first, but it turns pleased, at the mention of sharing. “You mean that, Mr. Stark?” he asks, almost not daring to hope. How many times has he dreamed of taking a shower with his husband in the past two years? More times than he can count.

 

“I mean it,” Tony says firmly, letting his fingers slip through Peter’s to hold one of his hands. “You might have gotten used to not having me love you for the past two years, but you’ll also get used to being loved like this again.” He brushes another kiss to Peter’s lips, then leads him toward the bathroom, so they can have that shower.

 

Peter follows along, feeling better for the words, the hand not held in Tony’s gripping his arm, above the wrist, so that he clings to his husband as they walk into the master bath. He lets go, so that Tony can adjust the water for them, then he starts to take his clothes off, feeling shy about it. 

 

“Are you my shy spider?” Tony asks, his voice suddenly thick with arousal as he watches Peter. He goes about taking his own clothing off, stripping with quick, decisive motions, so he can get his hands on Peter that much sooner.

 

“Yeah, Mr. Stark. I feel like some fumbling virgin again,” he says hoarsely, watching as Tony sheds his clothes in that masterful way. A tremble starts in his hands and spreads to his entire body when boxers land on the floor, and he gets a good look at what he’s been missing.

 

“Come here, shy little spider,” Tony rumbles, pulling Peter close by the hips, his erection pressing to the other man’s stomach through his shirt. “You’re perfect. Everything’s okay,” he says next, a hand coming up to smooth across Peter’s cheek, while a strong arm wraps around him, making sure potential weak knees don’t make him fall.

 

Oh, it’s exactly what he’d wished for, the way Tony wraps his arms around him, holding him in place when his knees tremble with the rest of him. “I want you so much,” he rasps out, a shy hand closing around Tony’s cock, stroking softly, gently. “I want you to have me. I want to know how you’ll do it so I can savor the image before it even happens.”

 

“I’m going to get in the shower with you, and then I’m going to guide you under the water, just watching you get slick, first,” Tony murmurs into his ear, his cock twitching in Peter’s gentle hand. Fingers push into shaggy hair, smoothing it slowly. “Then, I’m going to make you face the wall, and use the lube in there on my fingers, pushing them inside you to get you ready as I touch you all over with my other hand. Once you’re ready, I’m going to lube up my cock, turn you to face me, and back you into the wall. I’m going to guide your legs around my hips, and push inside you, making love to you until I get to feel you come.” He presses a soft kiss to Peter’s lips, then passes a lightly calloused thumb over the man’s lips. “How does that sound, shy little spider?”

 

“Like a dream come true,” Peter rasps out, dark eyes heavy and hopeful on Tony’s. He leans in to kiss his husband hard, and for the first time since he’s been back, this doesn’t feel like a fantasy that’s about to be snatched away by cold reality. The hand he uses to stroke Tony tightens, moving faster, because he needs to have more contact with this man. He just needs  _ more _ .

 

After their kiss, Tony makes good on that fantasy, guiding Peter into the shower and under the water. He smooths back that shaggy hair, slicking it, combing it with his fingers. “I’m going to miss this longer hair a little, but I like it short, too,” he murmurs, grinning at him and kissing him again as he tugs him from beneath the water. Then he’s guiding him to the wall, facing it, and pressing one of Peter’s forearms to it. The other hand is led down to Peter’s cock, making his fingers wrap around it and giving it a few pumps with his hand around Peter’s to start him off. “Thought I’d add a surprise detail,” he whispers to the back of Peter’s ear, before he gets started with the lube, pushing a long middle finger into his husband’s ass.

 

By the time Tony’s pushing that long digit into him, Peter’s breathing is ragged and he’s leaning heavily against the tile of the shower stall. “ _ Fuck _ , Tony,” he rasps out, his hips arching back, pushing more deeply onto that finger. “It’s been so long,” he says, his voice sounding almost broken. “Even your finger feels fucking huge,” he pants and he begins to work his hips back and forth, each motion earning him more friction for his cock as well as his bottom.

 

It’s something to wrap Tony’s head around, because they’d just had sex last night, and early this morning. But that reality isn’t the same for his husband, who’s waited two years for this moment. “I’ll be careful with you,” Tony whispers, his voice thick with emotion as he takes in the almost broken quality of his husband’s voice, kissing his shoulder. He takes his time with that middle finger, waiting until it slides easily, before he adds his index finger, a hand fisting in Peter’s hair.

 

Peter hisses out from the pleasure/pain of having that second finger added to the mix, and strokes his cock that much harder while he slows the motion of his hips to let Tony control the pace he thrusts his fingers at. He takes it slow for the first few minutes, then becomes greedy again, his hips pushing for more until he’s rasping out, “I need you, Tony. Please.”

 

“I need you, too,” Tony whispers, carefully tugging his fingers free and turning Peter to face him. He lifts him with his hands, and guides his legs to wrap around his hips, before guiding his cock to push the head inside Peter’s ass. He lets out a groan, and kisses Peter hard, all while very gradually pushing himself in deeper, and deeper. “Fuck, you’re  _ tight _ ,” he says with a ragged breath. “So fucking tight.”

 

“I’m all yours, Tony. Just yours. I’ll never belong to anybody else,” Peter babbles as Tony pushes inside him. It feels like home, being joined with his husband after all this time, and he drops his head to Tony’s shoulder, to cover the tears that stand in his eyes.

 

“You did so good, Peter,” Tony praises him, because Peter waited all this time. He could have moved on. Could have easily moved on. And it would have hurt so fucking bad, to lose his husband for three minutes, only to find out he’s moved on to a whole other life, with a whole other person. Three minutes in which he couldn’t defend what’s his, do anything to change his mind, try to win him back. Peter would have been just… Gone.

 

All that hits Tony like a wall, and has his body tensing, but he keeps thrusting ever so carefully. He’d been so quick to try to make Strange into some pet for Peter, because he’d thought that’s what his husband wanted, and he hadn’t seen a real threat to their relationship. But,  _ God _ , Strange could have been. Strange could have taken his entire world away. They might not have even come back to New York after those two years. They could have made Tony hunt them down, and maybe Tony would have never found them at all.

 

By the time these thoughts have made a few circuits in Tony’s head, his breathing is ragged, and tears are in his eyes as well. “I love you so much. Thank you for not leaving me, Peter,” he croaks out.

 

“Never,” Peter promises, and he can feel the change in Tony. Feel that Tony gets some of what he’s felt for so long. It makes him less alone. It makes the burden easier to bear, because it’s not all his now. “I love you too much, Tony.” His legs tighten around Tony’s waist, and with every thrust, he’s working closer to that switch, where everything just feels good. And then, he’s past it, his body loosening enough to make thrusting easier and his breath coming in long moans.

 

Fervent kisses are plied to Peter’s skin, up and down his neck, his shoulder, then latching onto his mouth for a deep, hungry kiss. A hand cups Peter’s ass, and his other comes around to start stroking Peter’s cock with rapid motions. Tony’s getting close, and trying to push his husband past the point of pleasure and into orgasm. “You feel so good,” he bites out, even as a tear falls, lost in the moisture of the shower.

 

“So do you,” Peter tells him, groaning against Tony’s skin, where he returns those kisses in kind. Then, all at once, it’s too much to take and he comes with Tony’s name on his lips. His pupils dilate and he comes all over Tony’s hand, the pulsing of his cock carrying back to the tight muscles of his ass to squeeze at his husband’s cock in waves.

 

Tony’s hips gently buck into his husband the moment Peter comes, unable to hold himself back any longer. He fills Peter with his seed, letting out a low groan, and willing himself to calm down the emotional turmoil inside him. But it has him clinging to his husband, and pressing near-frantic kisses to his face, a tremble moving through his body.

 

Peter catches that emotional turmoil and clings tightly to Tony, murmuring that he’s here. He’s always going to be  _ his _ , no matter how long he has to wait for him. He presses kisses all over his husband’s skin, while they’re still joined, but eventually Tony has to pull out, has to uncouple them so that they can wash and get ready for the day.

  
  


#

  
  


The rehearsal goes quickly, with the members of the wedding party doing a walk through, so everybody knows where they’re supposed to be and when. Ned isn’t thrilled to be sharing best man duties with one of Peter’s super hero buddies, but Peter promises that he’ll explain everything tonight, at the bachelor party. 

 

Then, they’re all taking private cars to the rehearsal dinner, which is a modest affair, by Tony Stark standards. Only a few dozen people file into the restaurant, which has been rented out for the night, including the wedding party, Team Stark, and Peter’s Aunt May. Peter’s been dreading seeing his Aunt, worried that she’ll see through him and wonder what’s happened to him. It’s just so much to try and explain, and he doesn’t want to worry her.

 

Still, the party is festive, with everybody going around the table to make a toast to the happy couple. They range from silly to touching, and Peter’s feeling pretty good by the time Ned gives a bumbling speech about how cool it is being Spider Man’s best friend. 

 

Giving Doc a pointed look to save his friend from what seems to be a long and rambling monologue, Peter squeezes Tony’s hand under the table. He’s sure Rhodey will bring things back around here in a minute, if Stephen doesn’t.

 

Stephen clears his throat, and stands with his drink after the look Peter gives him, patting Ned on the shoulder. Ned stops mid-sentence, then gives Stephen a hell of a look before sitting. Oh well. Stephen doesn’t give a fuck about making friends.

 

“What can I say about Peter and Tony?” Stephen muses, the only one in the group to say Peter’s name first, besides Aunt May. “Sometimes two people meet, and everything simply falls into place. Congratulations, Peter and Tony,” he says, and the small gathering toasts to the simplistic speech.

 

“That wasn’t even a speech,” Ned points out to Strange, grumbling a little still, the words pretty much ignored by the older man.

 

Rhodey’s speech isn’t much longer, since he’s saving the big stuff for the reception. It’s just a toast to his best friend and the man he loves, to which everybody enthusiastically raises a glass.

 

A few cases of wine later, and the grooms kiss each other goodbye for the night, headed out to their separate bachelor parties. When the two seem to cling to each other, like they might not separate, Rhodey practically grabs Tony by the collar, dragging him away to whatever awesomeness he has planned.

 

Once they’re gone, Peter, Ned, Doc, and some of Peter’s friends from work and school all head back to the Stark Tower penthouse, having decided to have their party there. Peter stations himself behind the bar when they arrive and begins mixing drinks for the group, talking quietly to Doc and Ned about what happened in Mexico, while the rest of his friends gawk around the penthouse, amazed by the luxury they find. 

 

“Hey, FRIDAY?” Peter asks, the AI who’s always present. “Can we get some music? Not too loud in my corner. We’re having a conversation over here.”

 

“Absolutely, Peter,” FRIDAY chirps, and starts playing one of the recent pop hits for the group, since they far outnumber Strange, and what the older man might like to hear.

 

Stephen doesn’t care about the music, though. He’s just nursing his  _ Dos Equis _ , listening to Peter talk and answering any questions Ned might have for either of them. It feels familiar, sitting at a bar with Peter behind it, taking care of everyone. Feels like the way things should be. Which is funny, because before Mexico, Stephen rarely drank any alcohol, and only had the occasional beer. Now having a beer is a regular comfort.

 

“So, did you guys do it?” Ned blurts out, because that seems to be something that could happen with Peter, now that Peter likes dudes. “I mean, I’m not trying to be-”

 

“No,” Stephen cuts him off, frowning. He takes another swig of his beer to finish it off. “Excuse me,” he says, and slides off the bar stool, moving away from the younger men to walk across the penthouse and stare out one of the large windows.

 

“Okay,” Ned says, staring after the man and working on his own beer. “Was it something I said?”

 

“Ned, you can’t ask if I did it with every dude I know,” Peter says patiently. “The only person - dude or lady - I do it with is Tony. He’s my husband. You know that.” Tony and Peter have kept the fact that they’re already married quiet, but there are still people who know and Ned’s one of them.

 

“Sorry. Just. Two years is a really long time, you know?” Ned tries to explain himself, mumbling around the rim of his beer bottle. “But I get it. You’re married. You’re a good guy, Peter.”

 

“Yeah. Two years was a long time,” Peter says, casting worried eyes at Doc as he stands, outside of the party, staring out the window. “Hey, why don’t you go talk to the guys. I need to check on Doc.”

 

“Sure,” Ned says, raising his beer to Peter, then heading off into the crowd to chat up the guys. He needs to get the D&D game started up, anyway. “Okay, did anyone bring their manuals?”

 

Making his way slowly to Doc, with a fresh beer in his hand, he steps next to the other man, holding the beer out silently. They stare out the window for a few minutes, each in their own thoughts. 

 

“Sorry about Ned. He means well,” Peter says quietly after a little time has passed, and he feels like he can talk.

 

“Sorry I’m in a mood,” Stephen replies, taking a swig of his beer, before putting on a smile. “I’ll have my head on straight by the wedding.” No, he won’t. But he’ll fake it.

 

“Look, if you need to...” Peter gestures with his hands, like he’s making a fake portal, “You know, jet. I get it. I’m touched you’re here at all.”

 

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” Stephen says honestly, rightly put in his place for being in the bad mood he’s in. He really better get that sorted, or else Peter won’t want him around.

 

“That sounds miserable, because I can think of a dozen places I’d rather be right now,” Peter says with a laugh, taking a drink of his beer, and chancing a look at Doc to see how his joke went over.

 

Instead of chuckling, or smiling, Stephen stares out the window for a long moment, before explaining, “You’re here. So I want to be here. I’m the one that actually enjoyed Mexico, remember? I have a strange sense of vacation and parties.” Strange, in that he likes them, if Peter’s there.

 

Peter bows his head and takes a drink of his beer. “Yeah I remember,” he says quietly. He wants to protest a little bit, but it’s the truth. Mexico hadn’t been all bad but Peter hadn’t enjoyed being there, not for a minute. In their happiest moments, he’d still felt like he was missing out on his life.

 

Stephen rests the hand not holding his beer in his pocket, and takes another swig from the bottle. “Life is getting better now,” he says quietly. “Things are falling back into place, where they should.”

 

“You talking about me or you?” Peter asks, because things  _ are _ starting to fall into place, at least a little, but he hopes his friend is talking about himself, too.

 

“Both of us. I’m learning where things go,” Stephen says. “Figuring out how best to proceed.” He looks over at Peter, and gives him a smile.

 

Peter nods to that and returns the smile, but before he can think of something else to say, the elevator dings open and he turns in that direction, frowning and tense, because everybody who’s supposed to be here already is. “Are we expecting company?”

 

Stephen’s beer is set aside, and he steps forward and slightly in front of Peter, taking on a defensive stance. He’s just about to make the motions to create a barrier or weapon, need depending, because, you know what? Even if it’s the Ancient One, Stephen’s in the mood to fight this time.

 

He’s not letting Peter be put through more hell.

 

But instead of any enemy, strippers come piling out of the elevator, giggling and cheering. Stephen can tell they’re strippers, because they have cute little outfits on, and none of the guys here could ever date any of them.

 

“Ned,” Peter groans, somewhat touched by the surprise. He looks over to Doc before he speaks, “So. You want to entertain them, or should I?”

 

Stephen reaches for his beer again. “As the eldest here, I feel it’s my responsibility to take care of this,” he mutters with a smirk, actually welcoming the distraction.

 

“That’s gonna be great for their Daddy issues,” Peter says with a chuckle, watching as Doc heads over to the group of girls and begins to speak in the moment before all the other men notice  _ girls _ in their midst and rush over.

 

The girls aren’t so much handled as they take over the party, dispersing to pick out a guy to play with each, a pretty, tiny blonde making her way over to Peter. “I think you’re the groom, right?” she asks, giving him a sweet smile. “I hear you’re a professional bartender, too.” She plays with her own hands a little, before asking, “Do you do tricks? Like that really old movie with Tom Cruise?”

 

“That’s what I keep telling people, but they’re never as impressed as I think they should be,” Peter says to her, relieved she didn’t start grinding on him instantly. “You want a drink?”

 

“Yes, please,” the girl tells him, following after him as he makes his way to the bar. “I’m Angel.”

 

Meanwhile, the brunette who’s picked out Stephen has all but pushed the older man into a chair, and is giving him a lap dance, but the doctor is being a good sport about it. He might even enjoy himself for real, by accident, if he keeps pretending to have a good time.

 

“So, you heard I’m a pro bartender. That means Tony Stark sent you, right?” Peter asks, reaching for a shaker and spinning it in his hand. He’s making her a pomtini. He’s touched. And even Doc looks like he’s having fun. Maybe it’s just fun for a night, but Peter wants it for him.

 

“That’s right. You’re Peter, and you’re going to marry Tony Stark tomorrow,” Angel says, blue eyes widening as Peter spins the shaker in his hand. She gives a little clap, and hops up onto the bar stool, which just shows how short she is, even in those heels.

 

“I am,” Peter confirms, taking up a bottle of vodka and flipping it around a few times before he pours a few shots into the cup of the shaker, along with the other ingredients and begins to shake. After it’s mixed and cold, he pours it into a martini glass and nudges it toward Angel. “Here you go,” he tells her, wondering if he can just get away with playing bartender all night.

 

“Thank you, Peter,” Angel says softly, smiling at him as she gives her hair a little toss. The long, platinum blonde tresses hang down just past the bottom of the chair. She takes up her glass, and surveys the gathering with the gaze of someone that’s in charge, making sure everyone’s having fun and is safe. Satisfied everything is under control, she looks back to Peter. “Did I see Dungeons and Dragons books?”

 

“Yeah. That’s where this party was headed before you saved us,” Peter laughs and goes about mixing up a pitcher of margaritas, now that this is looking more like a party. He takes down a half dozen margarita glasses and pours them full for the girls, and puts them on a tray for whoever comes over looking for booze first.

 

“My Dad used to play D&D with me and my brothers and sister. He still does, on holidays,” Angel says fondly, sipping her drink. “If you really want to, I could rally the girls into playing a game. Or cheering you boys on while you play.” How accommodating.

 

Peter takes a look at the guys, all of whom look like they’re in heaven. “Nah. I think the boys are pretty happy for now. Besides, Tony’ll never let me live it down, if he sent girls over and I talked them into playing Dungeons and Dragons, instead of partying.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Angel says, and contents herself to watching her designed client work behind the bar. She makes conversation, but doesn’t push Peter to do anything, sensing that’s what he needs.

 

“Peter! I’ll be ready and there tomorrow, on time!” Stephen calls from near the chair he’s been pinned down onto by the pretty brunette. She’s bouncing up and down excitedly, clapping her hands, all her goodies bouncing along with her. Then Stephen says to her, “Ready to see that magic trick?” and she squeals, before he’s throwing up a portal into the air, and stepping through it with her.

 

“Should I worry about what just happened there?” Angel asks, frowning.

 

Peter frowns after them, before he turns back to Angel with a smile. “Nah. You were hired by Mr. Stark, so there were bound to be some oddities, right? Besides. She’s with the best man I know. Well, the second best,” Peter backtracks, scratching at the back of his head. “Because it’s a given I’m marrying the best one, right?”

 

“Right,” Angel says, before turning back in her seat to face the bartending client.

 

#

 

Tony Stark’s bachelor party has an entire strip club rented out, with music blasting, an open bar, all that good shit. Except Tony’s in a back room, watching a girl dance on a pole, with Rhodey sitting in the chair near his. “You know, I think I should put this girl through college. She’s really good at that thing where she flips and spins.”

 

“Maybe do it without telling her? Because you don’t want her- And that’s another hundred dollar bill you’re putting on the floor by her. Okay then.” Rhodey grunts, having more beer.

 

“How much do you think college is these days?” Tony asks next.

 

“Why don’t you ask your barely legal husband?” Rhodey grumbles into his drink.

 

“He wouldn’t know. He got a full scholarship from Stark Industries,” Tony says cheerfully. Then he pauses, and adds, “You know, barely legal is still legal. And he’s 22, 24 if you count the time thing. His body is technically older than my body, and you can also get in line to kiss my ass.”

 

Rhodey chuckles a little bit. “I’m not Cap, Tony. No judgement here. I just want you happy, and you’re at least happy enough to do something  _ I _ thought was impossible for you.”

 

“What, get married?” Tony asks, his head tilting as he tries to figure out what exactly the stripper is up to now. Something that requires running toward the pole, and then- “Whoa. Would you look at that?”

 

“I mean, yeah. After you and Pepper didn’t pan out, I figured there was no hope in ever being your best man, Tony,” Rhodey says quietly. “Never been gladder to be wrong.”   
  


“Thanks, I appreciate that,” Tony says sincerely, even if his sincere voice sounds a lot like his sarcastic voice. He gets up, and starts emptying more money from his pockets onto the little floor for the stripper, who lets it stack in a neat little pile as she keeps dancing. “Take it. Take all my money,” Tony declares.

 

“What’s bothering you, Tony?” Rhodey asks, when Tony sits back down. “I haven’t seen you throw money at a girl like this since  _ before _ you became Iron Man.”

 

Tony sits back down, and the song ends, the stripper picking up her tips and sauntering out, replaced by the next girl. “Well, now that you mentioned it. Doctor Strange is madly in love with my husband,” Tony says flatly.

 

Rhodey’s eyes bulge and his jaw hits the table, looking at Tony with that incredulous face for a few seconds before he remembers that the other man can’t hear his internal dialogue. “What?!” he asks, completely shocked. “They were gone for, like, three minutes.”

 

“Two years, for them. That’s why I said my husband was 22 but he was also 24. Try to keep up, Rhodey,” Tony is patting around for more money, but he’s all tapped out after that last girl. So he gets up, and goes to the little ATM, humming a tune as he takes out more money.

 

“But, Peter’s still marrying  _ you _ ,” Rhodey says logically, following Tony to the ATM. “So, what’s there to be upset about?”   
  


“I’m bothered, but I’m not quite upset,” Tony amends, stuffing his money in his pockets and heading back to his chair with Rhodey. “I’m not bothered by Peter. I’m bothered by the stupid look on Strange’s face whenever he looks at my husband. I told myself I liked it, at first. Even offered for Peter to keep the man as a pet. But now? Now I’m annoyed.”

 

“You gonna say something to him about it?” Rhodey asks, wondering if he’s gonna need to suit up to help Tony not get his ass kicked by the overpowered sorcerer any time soon.

 

“No, I’m gonna talk shit about him behind his back like a backstabbing cunt, Rhodey,” Tony deadpans, frowning down at his empty beer.

 

“See, when you say things like that, I can’t tell if you’re serious or not,” Rhodey complains, getting up to get the man another drink and coming back with a Scotch. “Here. I thought this conversation required something stronger than lager.”   
  


“I wanna say something to him,” Tony says, taking the drink. “Thanks - It’s just that if I say something, what’s that gonna do exactly? Cure him? Make him go fall in love with a nice girl, or anyone else? Nope. At best, he’ll just stare at me. At extra best, he’ll want a fight.”

 

“Well, if he wants a fight, we’ll give him one,” Rhodey assures Tony. “But, I think if he wanted a fight, he wouldn’t be standing up for your wedding tomorrow. He’d probably be making a portal and marching himself in here before things get to the ‘I dos.’”

 

“Naw. Already married Peter. Ages ago, for Peter. So…” Tony shrugs. “But you already know that. And you still have a point. If he wanted to fuck my shit up, he wouldn’t be one of Peter’s best men. Which is so cute, by the way. Two best men. Fucking hell.” Tony grins, and has some Scotch.

 

“Well, they  _ did _ spend two years together,” Rhodey defends Peter a little bit. “It makes sense they’d be, uh, close. But he’s known that other kid his whole life, so he can’t exactly demote him, even if he feels closer to Strange these days.”

 

“I said it was cute, Rhodey. Do you really think I only speak in sarcasm? ...Don’t answer that,” Tony says, slapping a hundred down on the stripper dance floor. Almost forgot he’s supposed to be blowing money, here. “Do you think I’m lame for hanging out with you, instead of, you know, seeing how many strippers I can bang tonight?”

 

“Do you want to bang strippers, Tony?” Rhodey asks him seriously. “Because if you do, I’ll close the door and send every girl in this place in here for you. And we’ll never speak of it again.”

 

Tony stares at Rhodey for a long moment, then says quietly, “You’re my best friend, man. Seriously.” Then he polishes off his drink. “But, no, I don’t want to bang any strippers. As big of a whore as I’ve been in my time, I’ve turned into a Peter-sexual being.”

 

Sighing in relief, Rhodey studies his friend for a minute before he says. “That’s what you need right now. Peter. I’m gonna get him for you.” A not entirely sure footed Rhodey stands up and turns toward the door.

 

“Nope, against the rules,” Tony says, getting up unsteadily himself and getting between Rhodey and the door. “We’re gonna sit here, stare at girls, spend all my money, and let the kid have a nice time without me bothering him. He’s probably a level five, maybe even six paladin by now.”

 

“Whatever you want, man. Whatever you want. I’m just saying, you want to be with him, and I’ll bet whatever’s in your pocket that he wants to be with you right now, too. Screw the rules, man. You’re already married.”

 

#

 

It’s 2 am, and a portal opens up in the living room. Out hops that stripper from earlier, covered in balloon animals and a little confused. She shrugs, and makes her way over to Angel, giving her a unicorn hat. “That guy was so fucking weird,” she says cheerfully. “But really fun. In a magic shows and tea drinking kind of way.”

 

“What?” Angel laughs, adjusting her new hat. “Well, I’m glad you’re safe, and back before dawn. Peter here’s uh…” She looks over to their bartender, who’s seated on the stool near hers, with his head on the counter, sleeping with a hand around a shot of tequila. “Out of commision. He drank absolutely heroic amounts of tequila. So that was fun to watch.”

 

“Probably more fun than tea. Shame though. That guy had a really big dick. I could feel it when I was dancing in his lap,” the stripper sighs, and then bounds off to dispense more balloon animal hats.

 

The elevator dings, and in staggers Tony, with Rhodey helping him stay upright. “I’m fine. We made it. Ooh, strippers,” Tony slurs, before straightening as he walks into the penthouse, and throwing his arms out wide. “Come to Daddy, strippers.”

 

“That only works when you don’t look like a damn kid, Tony,” Rhodey hisses at him, swaying softly where he stands. “Maybe ‘come to Trust Fund Baby’ would get them over here.”

 

Tony starts laughing so hard he falls over, and keeps laughing after that. A stripper with a lion balloon animal hat comes over, and crouches down. “Are you okay, Mr. Stark?” She gives him a sweet smile. “Your man is at the bar, sleeping.”

 

“My man!” Tony slurs, popping up to go see Peter. He staggers over to the bar, and flops half his body on the counter. He plucks the tequila shot from Peter’s hand, and drinks it himself. “Hey. Beautiful. Daddy’s home.” That’ll at least still work on Peter. Probably.

 

“Daddy?” Peter rouses slightly, puzzled by the name and the fact that his emotional support tequila is gone from his hand. “Tony?” Dark eyes blink open and a slow smile spreads across his face. “You’re here. I  _ missed _ you.”

 

“I missed you too, kid. Let’s go pass out in bed. Maybe have sex when we wake up slightly sober enough to pull it off,” Tony murmurs, swaying. “Because right now, my dick doesn’t work, or I’d do you. I’d do you so hard.”

 

“You would?” Peter brightens up a little, before he really concentrates. “Mine might. Maybe. I don’t know.”

 

“You have, literally, no idea how cute you are,” Tony slurs, giving him a tug by his shirt to head toward the bedroom. “Rhodey! I love you man! Let the people know they can go home whenever!” he calls to his friend, and the pair disappears into their bedroom, falling onto the mattress, instantly asleep in each other’s arms.

 

 

**A/N So. I made some people mad with that last chapter. I was looking for a way to introduce Hurt!Peter into the story, so I could have some Hurt/Comfort Starker for a bit, which we got to see in this chapter and we'll definitely see in the next. Thank you to those of you who are still with us.**


	11. Chapter 11

 

It’s a beautiful June evening for a wedding. The sun has just set, leaving them in a twilight that feels magical, with the lanterns hanging from the trees that surround the lakefront lodge Peter and Tony have chosen for the occasion. The lights glint off the lake, and instead of flower, the aisle is lined with greenery, that also shine with the lanterns. The whole things feels more masculine than any wedding Peter’s ever seen and also more magical. Like they’ve travelled back in time, or something. 

 

He counts down these last minutes from the lodge, waiting for his cue to go. Tony’s walking up the aisle soon, if everything is going according to plan. Strangely, he doesn’t feel nervous right now. He doesn’t feel anything, really. He’s aware of all the things he  _ should _ be feeling, but everything is too surreal for that. 

 

“How do I look?” he asks quietly, turning to Doc for a final inspection. It wouldn’t do to have lint on his jacket, or something on his face or anything like that right now.

 

Long fingers move to smooth an already smooth lapel, then perfect that already perfect boutonniere, before straightening an already straight tie. “You look like a poem I couldn’t write, even if I tried, Peter,” Stephen tells him, lowering his hands and folding them behind his back. “And, just like that blank sheet of paper, you seem… Empty. Are you in shock? Should I get you a drink?”

 

“No. I don’t need a drink to get through this,” Peter replies, raising his hands to crack his knuckles absently, one after the other. He glances down at his watch next, a gift from Tony. Three minutes.

 

“Nothing bad is going to happen to you, Peter. I know that’s hard to believe, but I’ve learned from what transpired,” Stephen says quietly. “You are  _ safe _ .”

 

Offering up a wan smile, Peter nods. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate that. I need all the help I can get, right?” he reaches out to squeeze the other man’s shoulder, then checks his watch again, because he can’t seem to stop doing that. “Two minutes.”

 

A man could do a lot in two minutes. Maybe even more than he could accomplish in two years. A hand comes up to squeeze Peter’s shoulder in return, his other hand smoothing the strands of hair at the back of Peter’s hair. His head bows to press his brow to the other man’s, and his eyes shut, as if he could convey a sense of security if he just focused hard enough. “I’m a very selfish man, Peter.”

 

“So is my husband,” Peter reminds him quietly. He doesn’t step back, but he makes sure to put the spectre of Tony between them as quietly as he can. He doesn’t want to hurt his friend, but it seems like giving in to the little part of him that tingles with that touch would only do that. Because it’s not enough to come between him and Tony. Not after everything he went through to get back to him.

 

Stephen didn’t need to be reminded of what he’s painfully aware of, but he takes the prompt without complaint. “Your husband didn’t get you sent back two years,” he says softly, and then the music starts up for Tony’s walk up the aisle. He slides his hands from Peter’s body, and straightens, eyes clouded with shame, and sadness. “My loving you is what made all of the terrible things in your life happen. I had no business falling in love with you, Peter Stark, but I did it anyway, and you paid the price for it.”

 

Now, Peter’s in shock. Brown eyes widen as he looks up into Doc’s eyes. Then, just as quickly, the look is wiped from his face, his gaze shuttered and locked. “That’s unfortunate.” He says quietly before he looks at his watch again. “One minute.”   
  


What other damage can Stephen do in less than sixty seconds? He watches Peter lock himself away, and the sorcerer's mouth opens to speak, then shuts again. Perhaps now Peter will hate him, at least as much as he hates himself. Maybe that will make it easier to try to not love the young man. God knows Peter isn’t encouraging him to feel the emotion.

 

Ned steps inside to let them know it’s time to start Peter’s procession, and Stephen feels relief in the fact that he’s been stopped from saying anything else stupid. He shouldn’t have said anything at all on the topic of him loving Peter. Not on Peter’s wedding day. Not ever.

 

Peter shakes his hand, thanking him for telling them, then thanking him for being here today. When he turns to Doc, he holds out the same hand for him to shake. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says quietly.

 

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” Stephen says in a calm voice, covering his shock at the polite gesture fairly well. He shakes the man’s hand, and lets it go.

 

There will be no grand gestures to try to change Peter’s mind. There will be no more confessions to try to make Peter hate him, either. Stephen’s going to shut his mouth, smile, and try not to ruin this young man’s life anymore than he already has.

 

Ned and Stephen go first, and Peter counts of a slow ten count before he follows them. It’s all perfect, he notes in a detached sort of way. The decorations, the evening, then guests beaming at him as he approaches the aisle. 

 

He gathers himself, pushes the nothing he feels down deep and pastes on that same smile he wore for two years in Mexico while we was working for tips, then raises his eyes to meet Tony’s.

Tony lifts a gentle hand to cup Peter’s cheek, the loving expression on his face shifting after a moment’s hesitation to concern. That fake smile, no matter how dazzling, doesn’t fool him. “Peter. What’s wrong?” he asks softly.

 

“Nothing, Mr. Stark,” Peter says brightly, cranking up the wattage on his smile. He just has to get through the next fifteen minutes or so, then he can go somewhere quiet and fall apart, if he needs to.

 

Stephen has a pretty good guess as to what could be wrong, but the tall man is silent, watching the couple standing there getting ready to have a wedding. For his part, he just covers Ned’s mouth when the boy tries to pipe up with whatever moronic comment he would have otherwise said. Probably something about Spider Man anyway.

 

Tony nods, giving Peter a wary look, and the Judge asks if they’re ready to begin the ceremony. “You ready, kid?” Tony asks Peter quietly, reaching for his hands so he can squeeze them.

 

Having Tony’s hands gives Peter something to anchor himself to, and there’s a bit of relief on his face, when he nods his head and mouths the word  _ yes _ . He squeezes the other man’s hands, clinging to them like they’re a lifeline, and maybe they are. Maybe Tony is his line to regular, human emotions right now, because he doesn’t seem to be having them for himself.

 

About part way through the speech the Judge makes, Peter’s hands get cold, and start to tremble in Tony’s. Tony doesn’t take his eyes off the other man, keeping his expression calm, loving, trying to share those emotions with Peter to fight whatever is going on inside that other man that feels like this. And then he’s wrapping his arms around Peter, a soft gasp coming from the gathering at the sudden movement. “You’re okay, Peter,” Tony says in his ear, a hand coming up to smooth his hair, and down his back.

 

Peter feels weak and he’s grateful for Tony’s arms around him, because they keep him from falling down. He clings to Tony, as the judge stops and asks if they need a minute. “Yeah,” he replies quietly to the older man. “I think I must’ve locked my knees or something.” It’s not a bad lie, as lies go, and it buys him a minute to get his shit together.

 

“Let’s get you a seat, somewhere quiet,” Tony murmurs, guiding Peter along down the aisle, ignoring the murmuring from the crowd.

 

“The grooms just need a minute,” Stephen explains, raising his voice to be heard across the large group.

 

“I don’t want to make a scene, Tony,” Peter protests softly as the other man escorts him away to the mammoth back deck of the lodge. They sit on a swing that looks over the wedding they just left and the lake beyond it. “It’s beautiful. We should get back to it soon,” he says woodenly, still holding tight to Tony’s hands.

 

“We’re already married, Peter,” Tony says softly, leaning in to murmur it into his ear. “This part? It’s just… So I can show off to everyone that you’ve married me. And I wanted to see it in the papers, you know? But it doesn’t matter, not enough for me to push you to do it while you feel like this. You’re not okay, Peter. You need to heal.”

 

“I won’t be more okay by not doing this,” he says quietly. “It’s strange. I kept thinking of today as The Day, while I was in Mexico. It was my endzone. And now I’m here, and I feel like I should be the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. But, I don’t feel  _ anything _ . I want to. I want everybody to see me marry you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Tony.”

 

“I think living for two years without me is what’s wrong with you. I’d be a wreck, too, if I was you,” Tony says with a frown. “By rights, I should be trying to win you over all over again. I should do more. I shouldn’t just expect you to pick up and be my husband after all this time.” It’s hard to say, but Tony means it. He needs to make this right.

 

“Why don’t you start by winning me over at our reception, Mr. Stark?” Peter gives a small smile. “Which could start in about fifteen minutes or so, if we go back and stop feeding the rumor mill.” There’s a small relief in not having to pretend that everything’s okay to Tony. Maybe it’s enough to get him through the next few hours, even.

 

“Okay,” Tony says, because this seems to really be what Peter wants. He presses a soft kiss to his husband’s mouth, then feels like he needs more, a hand coming up to cup the back of his head as his tongue pushes inside that mouth for a taste. It’s gentle, with an undercurrent of need that he’s keeping tempered.

 

Peter submits to that kiss, his blood quickening for it, and he gives a little moan into Tony’s mouth. “We’re going to have a really good reception. And then, we’re going to have a great honeymoon. And after that, we’ll have a terrific life, right?” he asks, dark eyes opening to search Tony’s.

 

“Right,” Tony rumbles, grinning at him. “That’s definitely the plan.” He's’ not going to lie to the kid and tell him things are going to be perfect, but, “I’m going to do my best to give you the life we deserve. And you know I always put 200% into everything I do.”

 

“A man can’t ask for more than that,” Peter says, climbing to his feet and using their still clasped hands to help Tony to his. “What do you say we get down there before we end up in the trashy blogs, instead of the newspapers?” he asks, maybe not feeling better exactly, but at least  _ feeling _ .

 

“You got it, kid,” Tony murmurs, and off the go back down the aisle, hand in hand, Tony just strolling along like nothing’s amiss. Judging by the trajectory of the moon, and the stars in the sky, he’s pretty sure Stephen is blaming himself for all this. Okay, so mostly it’s the look on the man’s face as they approach. Tony claps the man on the shoulder and gives it a squeeze, “Buck up, buddy.” Then he’s getting back into position to get this marriage ceremony going.

 

Rather than start again, the judge moves along to his opening remarks to the couple, telling them about the duty and the benefits of marriage. Then, he announces that in place of reciting the traditional vows, Tony and Peter have opted to write their own. He looks to Tony first, since he’s taking the more traditional leading role in the ceremony.

 

“Three minutes. A lot can happen in three minutes. Someone can just disappear, and when that happens, three minutes feels like two years, or even a lifetime. When the Ancient One made you vanish, I lost my mind. I just saw red, and all I could think about was…. There goes my whole world.” Tony takes in a shaky breath, and then he breaks into a smile. “But then you screamed out my name, and came running to me with all the puppy energy I’ve ever seen you have. You leaped into my arms, and in that moment, I knew that we weren’t just lucky. We were redeemed. We were given something back that was lost in those three minutes, and Peter, I’m not going to make Fate regret the decision. I love you. I cherish you. I protect you. No matter what it takes. No matter what the cost, and with every ounce of appreciation for all I gain.” It isn’t what was on his cards, but he didn’t use the cards. He just said what needed to be said, because those three minutes, they changed their lives, and his vows.

 

The word steal Peter’s breath, and he feels tears prick at the backs of his eyes.  _ Fuck _ , is he glad he didn’t miss that. Then, it’s his turn, and he draws a deep breath to replace the one Tony stole and begins:

 

“If I became lost in the multiverse, exploring infinite parallel dimensions, my only criterion for stopping would be whether or not I could find you. If I were stranded in Time, my only concern would be counting the days until I could be with you again. Because you are my life, Tony Stark. Moving closer to you is my purpose, and my reason. You are my beach; the place I go when I crave solitude or compassion. You are my hero. You are  _ my _ Mr. Stark.” It’s not as beautiful as what Tony came up with, but Peter’s never been as good with words. Still, his eyes burn when he recites the words and he grips Tony’s hands as tightly as he can without hurting him.

 

“That was so good,” Tony murmurs softly to Peter, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. He leans in and steals a kiss, because fuck rules, he’s Tony Stark. The judge clears his throat, and the gathering laughs and claps.

 

Then, the judge is asking for their rings, and Stephen and Rhodey step forward with their respective grooms’ ring. The judge holds them up and talks about the symbolism of the wedding ring in general, then the symbolism of these rings in specific. They’re made of steel, like Tony’s suit, and the bands of blue and red are for Peter’s Spider Man identity, while the red and gold are symbolic of Tony’s alter ego. It’s a promise to fight for and protect one another, to the best of their ability, and as these rings match it’s sign of the two blending into one, rather than branding the other with their colors.

 

Tony takes the ring meant for Peter, and slides it onto the man’s finger, saying proudly, “With this ring, I thee wed.” A lightly calloused thumb slides over the ring after, and Peter’s knuckles, Tony looking like he wants to kiss the man again, but he’s trying to behave.

 

Peter eagerly takes Tony’s ring from the judge and slides it onto his finger with a broad, happy grin. “With this ring, I thee wed,” he says, his voice as proud as Tony’s. He barely waits the few seconds it takes for the judge to declare them married, before he launches himself into Tony’s arms, looking for the kiss he knows the other man wants to give him.

 

That kiss is given with graphic amounts of tongue, to the point that the crowd starts cat calling the couple. Happy cries out after a few long seconds, “Give him some air!” because of course he does.

 

Tony lets up on the kiss, and mutters across Peter’s lips. “My hands are on your ass, but in my defense, you wrapped your legs around me and I can’t be blamed for muscle memory.”

 

Peter laughs happily and climbs down, so they can be at least somewhat modest, though he wraps his arm around Tony’s waist as the judge declares them the Misters Stark for the masses. 

  
  


#

  
  
  


Peter feels all the things he wishes he could have felt at the beginning of the wedding. The feelings had been coming in short bursts that started when Tony recited his vows, but by the time the two men are done taking pictures with the photographer he’s happy. Joyous.

 

He’s definitely not angry with his best friend, except he kind of is.

 

No, he’s not going to think about that right now. Right now, it’s time for him and Tony to cut the cake, and he grips the ceremonial knife with his left hand, Tony’s left hand covering his, so that the wedding rings are visible in the photos. Sure, Peter’s just barely peeks out from beneath Tony’s, but it’s still there, and it’s a nice picture.

 

Then, he’s holding up Tony’s piece of cake with a daring glint in his eyes, while Tony does the same with his. On the count of three, they come at each other with the cake, only to carefully feed the other their bit without smearing it all over the other’s face. Happy boos them for not doing it right, while the crowd laughs at their antics. 

 

All except Stephen, who watches them with a stoic expression from the edges of the crowd.

 

Stephen hadn’t meant to almost ruin Peter’s wedding day, but he did. And now look at Peter. He’s happy, despite everything Stephen’s done to him. A part of him wonders if he just lost his best friend today, or if Peter’s forgiving heart will give him another chance. Either way, he’s going to make the reception dinner speech a good one, this time.

 

While Peter pointedly ignores the expression on Doc’s face, even though he can see it, he goes about being as happy as he’s able, kissing his husband when he’s called to do so, and laughing. It doesn’t matter that he’s been officially married for so long,  _ this _ is the moment that matters. The one they share with their friends and family.

 

Then, it’s time for dinner to be served, and Peter finds himself sitting next to Stephen at the Wedding Party’s table, and he can’t very well ignore him without making a spectacle. “So,” he begins, trying to make some conversation while Tony talks to Rhodey on his other side, “Did you and Ned draw straws to see who has to give the best man speech?”

 

“I’m giving it,” Stephen says carefully. Really, Stephen’s all but ousted Ned in the last stretch of the best man duties. His food is untouched, until he makes the conscious effort to cut into the salmon and take a bite. He doesn’t want to make a spectacle of himself anymore than he already has, being in love with one of the grooms.

 

Peter has no idea what the name of the beef option is, but he knows it’s delicious, and he’s eaten most of it by the time he realizes that Doc hasn’t touched his salmon. “Did the caterers get it wrong?” he asks, looking at the man’s barely touched plate, “‘Cause we can get you a different plate. There’s a ton of extra.”

 

“No, thank you, this is actually delicious. I was just… thinking,” Stephen tries to explain himself, having another bite of his salmon. The stuffing with it is incredible. Some kind of cheese, spinach, and artichoke combination. Would you like to try it?”

 

“Nah. I might get another plate later. I’ll try it, then,” he defers, half wishing Tony and Rhodey weren’t debating something that’s taking all his attention right now. But, he is, and that leaves him talking to Doc.

 

“Look,” Peter says with a sigh. “I can’t say I’m not a little shocked and angry, about the stuff that happened before the wedding. But, you’re still my best friend, and I want you to have a good time tonight. What can I do to help you out?”

 

Stephen stares down at his plate, carefully forking another bite of the salmon and stuffing. Peter wants to try it, just not off  _ his _ plate. He takes that bite and chews while Peter points out his terrible mood, and it feels like being kicked just a bit harder. Stephen should do better. “I’m having a fantastic time,” he tells Peter after swallowing. “This is my fantastic time face.”

 

“Yeah, mine, too,” Peter says, glowering down at the remnants of his plate.

 

“Rhodey, the Dolphins are never going to win, give it up,” Stephen finally says loud enough for the man to hear him over Tony’s arguments, listing every time the team has lost since the beginning of time.

 

“Say that to my face, Sparkles,” Rhodey defends hotly, scooting back in his chair, Tony forgotten.

 

Stephen scoots back in his, and so the debate wars on, except Stephen has replaced Tony.

 

“Did he… just throw himself in front of a Rhodey shaped bus for me? Because I’m a little touched,” Tony murmurs to Peter, stealing a kiss.

 

Peter returns the kiss with a half smile, murmuring, “Yeah, he’s a swell guy,” when Tony’s lips part from his. “We can owe him a favor for that.”

 

“How’s your food? It must be good, because it’s nearly all gone,” Tony points out, spearing a small piece of beef that’s left with his fork off Peter’s plate, and eating it with a smirk. Tony’s already cleaned his plate.

 

“Yeah, it’s really good. Looking forward to some seconds, after we dance,” he admits, looking out at the sea of mostly empty plates among their guests. “I guess it’s getting to be that time. Do you think we can pull the best men apart long enough to give their toasts or just leave them to it and tell the DJ to start the tunes?”   
  


“Skip a speech from Rhodey about me? Not a chance,” Tony counters, kissing Peter again, this time pushing fingers in his hair and deepening the kiss until Peter is panting into his mouth. Satisfied with himself, he turns in his chair, and taps Rhodey’s shoulder. “Hey man. You gonna give your speech, or what?”

 

“Yeah,” Rhodey says, still eyeing a rather smug looking Strange. He clears his throat, and rises, tapping a knife against his glass to signal to everyone he’s about to speak. He lifts his glass, and says, “I’ve known Tony for a long time, and I’ve never seen him turn down strippers, until his bachelor party. I’m pretty sure that’s love, in Tony terms. And he’s a lucky guy. I’ve never seen anyone as crazy about, as devoted to and as supportive of a man, as Peter is to Tony. I know they’re going to have a great life together. To Tony and Peter,” Rhodey says, lifting his glass, and everyone takes a drink.

 

“That was beautiful. I especially like the part about the strippers,” Tony murmurs to Rhodey, who just grunts at him.

 

Stephen stands next, holding his glass casually in a hand, thumb smoothing along the lip of the vessel as he considers his words. “A man can’t ask for a better person to be in his corner, than Peter. He fights harder than anyone else I know, and loves deeper. To be the object of that kind of devotion, that’s something that no one should ever take for granted. I am honored to even know him. To be considered one of his friends? I find myself wondering what I did right.” Stephen smiles down at his glass, thumb still caressing the edge of it. “There’s no better man for Tony Stark than Peter, because there is simply no better man. To Peter and Tony,” he says, lifting his glass, and having a drink.

 

Peter offers Stephen a hesitant smile, then stands to shake his hand and pull him in for a hug, clapping him on the back as he does. “Thanks, Doc. That was really great.”   
  


Stephen hugs Peter in return, but doesn’t let himself linger on the embrace. “You’re welcome, Peter Stark,” he says quietly, using the last night as a reminder to himself of just who Peter is, as if he were ever anyone else to Stephen. Then he returns to his seat, and diligently works on finishing his food.

 

The DJ starts playing the music then, inviting the Misters Stark to share their first dance together. Peter looks up at Tony as he stands and holds out his hand with a little smile. He slides his palm into the other man’s and rises, moving to his side, so they can make the little walk to the dance floor. A spotlight shines on them, and Peter rests his head against the lapel of Tony’s jacket as he curves into him. The feel of strong arms around him is just perfect and he raises his head to look into dark eyes. “I love you, Tony Stark.”   
  


“I love you, Peter Stark,” Tony rumbles in return, arms secure around his husband. “Thanks for not leaving me at the altar. I would have chased you, but it was still nice you didn’t leave.”

 

“I wasn’t going to leave you at the altar. That would suggest I didn’t want to be married to you. So, no matter how badly I wanted to be on a beach with a bucket of beer, I wasn’t going anywhere,” Peter tells him softly. “I never want to jeopardize what we have together.”   
  


“I believe you,” Tony says solemnly, kissing Peter very softly. Then he kisses his temple, too, and rests his cheek against Peter’s, swaying slowly with him. They just sway and hold each other until the song is over, and everyone claps for the happy couple.

 

The dance floor is opened to other couples and Tony and Peter dance alongside everybody else, ignoring the fact this is a fast song, to keep swaying and holding one another. Finally, after a few hours of dancing and drinking, Pepper comes to tap Tony on the shoulder at the high table. She’d been invited, but Tony hadn’t really expected her to show. Yet, here she is, a little drunk and asking for a dance.

 

“Uh, sure, Pep, we can dance,” Tony says, after clearing his throat and rising to give Pepper that dance. He helps her walk a little more steadily in those tall heels that make her a giant compared to him, and onto the dance floor they go, the DJ playing a slow song. Tony puts a hand on her hip, and his other hand takes hers, but still, he mostly just sways. He’s not a very accomplished dancer.

 

“So, Rhodey’s speech was great,” she begins, her voice a little brittle. “Don’t you think Rhodey’s speech was great?”

 

This is definitely a trap. But Tony doesn’t know any way out of it, other than to just dive right in and get it over with. “Yeah. Not as good as Stephen’s, but he tried. I blame his love of the Dolphins making him forget whatever better thing he probably wanted to say.”

 

Blue eyes narrow as Pepper looks down at Tony from the height advantage of her four inch shoes. “You really think Peter is more devoted to you or supportive of you than I was?” she asks him sharply. “Because from where I’m standing his six months is a little shy of my how many years was it, Tony?”

 

“Uh… A… Lot?” Tony fumbles.

 

“A lot. I’ve worked for you for over  _ ten years _ , Tony. And that’s not counting the time we were together!” Pepper tells him heatedly. 

 

“Excuse me,” Stephen murmurs, tapping Pepper on the shoulder. She’s not taller than  _ him _ , even in those four inch heels.

 

“What?!” Pepper snaps at the tall man over her shoulder. She’s not done with Tony yet.

 

“I’m cutting in,” Stephen tells her, in the type of tone that doesn’t leave room for much argument. “I’m going to dance with Tony.”

 

“And you’re going to dance with  _ me _ ,” Peter says, swooping in to steal Pepper away and dancing her toward the edge of the floor, out of the spotlight. Because Tony may not be much of a dancer, but Peter’s got moves. “Besides, your beef is really with me. So, let’s have it. Once and for all, so we can get on with our lives.”

 

“I don’t have beef with you. You’re a child,” Pepper says, not looking directly at Peter, like it might actually  _ hurt _ to have to do so.

 

“I’m a married man,” he counters, still edging toward the sidelines.

 

Pepper doesn’t know what to say to that, so she’s silent for a moment. “I’ve spent most of my adult life watching out for and taking care of Tony Stark and his company,” she says finally. “And you swoop in and get all the credit for what I did silently for a decade. It isn’t fair.”

 

“It’s not,” Peter tells her, taking her seriously. “By rights, this should be your night. But, it’s not, and I don’t have any fancy advice for you except that you’re better than this. So act like it, Pepper.”

 

Pepper gives him a once over, her eyes cooling with grudging respect for the younger man. “Tell Tony I quit. And I hope Rhodey was right, because he’s gonna need all the help he can get.” With those words, she strides away from the dance floor with as much dignity as she can muster, collects her bag, and leaves.

 

Meanwhile, Tony is trying to think of something nice to say to Stephen for saving him, but he feels  _ weird _ slow dancing with this man. He tips his head back to make eye contact, and narrows his eyes. “Why did you do that?”

 

“It was the right thing to do, Tony. I do things like that,” Stephen replies easily, trying to lead Tony into a spin, but Tony refuses, so he just lowers his hand again and they resume the ever so artful swaying.

 

“Thanks. So basically, you’re sucking up to Peter. Am I right?” Tony asks next, glancing around Stephen to see Peter dancing with Pepper and talking.

 

“Yes,” Stephen says thoughtfully. “I suppose I am.”

 

“You love him,” Tony says next.

 

“Yes, I do,” Stephen replies easily.

 

“Well, too bad, because he’s married to me,” Tony huffs out.

 

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Stephen snaps, losing that careful control he has over himself. “It’s you. It’s always been you, for Peter. Not a day has gone by where I could forget that fact, no matter how much I wanted to try. You won. You have him. Now stop turning the knife deeper, because you’re stabbing a fucking carcass.”

 

Tony is silent for that, but after a moment, lifts his hand to try to spin Stephen in a circle. The tall man refuses. Then he clears his throat. “So, you gonna dance with Peter? I know you want to.”

 

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience him,” Stephen says, voice suddenly hoarse.

 

“You’re his best friend. I doubt he’d consider dancing with you anything like that. Maybe, while you’re dancing with him, you can apologize for being such a fucking asshole by telling him you love him in the first place. Or, I don’t know, maybe not talk about any of that at all, and just be supportive of him,” Tony says cheerfully.

 

Stephen gives Tony a long look, saying nothing, and the dance ends. Then the sorcerer turns on his heels, and goes in search of Peter, finding him standing alone on the dance floor. “Thank you for the assistance with Pepper,” he says, offering his hands out to Peter. “Would you dance with me, now?”

 

“Sure,” Peter shrugs and slides his hand into Doc’s. “It can’t be any more awkward than what I just did. You think Tony’s gonna be mad that I made Pepper mad and she quit? ‘Cause I think he’s gonna be mad.”

 

A fast paced song starts, and it gives the two men a chance to really show their moves. “He’ll get over it. He has you,” Stephen says wisely, squeezing Peter’s hands, then taking on the position to dance, gliding across the dance floor with him.

 

“You keep saying stuff like that, and so far you’ve been right, but I’m worried that eventually you won’t be,” Peter says softly, letting himself get caught up in the moves of the dance.

 

“Why do you think that is?” Stephen asks, his expression open as he waits to listen to the other man’s answer. They’re starting to steal some attention, being two of the only people there that can actually dance.

 

“I, just... I mean...” Peter stammers for a moment, trying to find his words. “He’s  _ Tony Stark _ , for crying out loud. And I’m some kid in R&D who got lucky with a spider bite, you know?”

 

“Give me a second. We need to finish this song, because now people are staring,” Stephen points out, and that gives the men a few seconds to really show off, before the song ends, and the older man is guiding Peter away from the crowd. Once he’s settled Peter into a chair, he drops into another one, and frowns forward, thinking. “Normally, I’d think you should get an unbiased opinion on a subject like this, but since I have something in common with the object of your affection, I think I’m the perfect candidate to speak my mind.”

 

“Look, this isn’t some poor me, looking for compliments kind of thing. I get it. I’m cute, funny, and smart. I’ve heard all that. What I don’t get is why  _ me _ , compared to all the other cute, smart, and funny people who’ve tried. Why am I so special that I got to marry this guy, and how do I stay that special, if I don’t know what I did to start with?” Peter says, reaching for the drink he left on the table.

 

“Maybe sometimes people just fall in love, Peter. And it doesn’t exactly measure up to who’s the perfect person for them, or if there’s someone better,” Stephen says slowly, thinking of the counsel the Ancient One gave him. How there’s a thousand other people she would have chosen for him over Peter. “But once that person is in love, they get a chance to discover another person. To learn them, to grow with them, and to fall deeper in love. You can  _ try _ to do things that will ensure Tony Stark is always in love with you, but really, that’s up to him. Just as loving him is up to you.” Stephen sits back in his chair, hands folding over his stomach.

 

“Do you think, if things were different...” Peter begins, looking out at the crowd, his eyes searching for his husband, “Do you think if Tony’d been the one who got sent back, he’d have waited?” Peter takes a deep breath before Stephen can answer. “Nevermind. I don’t want to know the answer to that question. I’m gonna go look for another plate of food. You want anything?”

 

“I think the real question to consider here is… Would you have taken him back, if he hadn’t waited? Because you can’t control what he does, only what you’ll accept for yourself, Peter. I’ll take a beer, if you feel like grabbing one while you’re up,” Stephen says, and grabs his glass of water, finishing what’s left of it.

  
“ _ Dos Equis _ ?” Peter asks, unnecessarily as he rises. He nods when Doc confirms his choice and wanders away, half heartedly looking for the caterers set up in the lodge. On the way, he finds himself wandering toward the lake’s edge, the detritus of the wedding already cleared away, except for the lanterns burning in the trees. He moves closer to the water and has a seat on the ground, staring out at the lights reflecting off the surface and at the stars that shine in the sky.

 

When Tony doesn’t find Peter with Strange, he asks the sorcerer where his husband is. Armed with the knowledge that Peter went off looking for food, and hopefully a beer, Tony ends up finding the man sitting by the water. “Hey,” he says to announce himself, before having a seat beside his husband. “It’s beautiful out here, huh?”

 

“It is,” Peter agrees, without looking away from the view. He’s gazing upward, at the stars, his arms wrapped around his knees, like a kid. After a moment, he tears his gaze away from the stars and looks to Tony. “I was going for food and beer, but I got sidetracked.”   
  


“I’d like to think the path to food and beer can include the stars, when we want them to,” Tony says thoughtfully, wrapping an arm around Peter. He gazes at his husband thoughtfully, then tips his head back, looking at the stars as well. “This is one of the best days of my life. Right up there with our first attempt at getting you drunk.”

 

“Me, too, Tony,” Peter says softly, thinking back over some of their other best days. Like the day they got married in Vegas, so Peter could start work as a Stark. Of course, that day ended with cracked ribs, but that’s beside the point, entirely. “I hope we have lots of days like today,” he decides, leaning into Tony’s side.

 

“That’s entirely up to us. People make days like this happen,” Tony murmurs, pressing a kiss into his husband’s hair. “And, since I’m Tony Stark, I happen to be prone to making these days happen.”

 

“You’re a good man, Tony Stark,” Peter says simply, turning his head to catch his lips in a soft kiss. “And you’re  _ my  _ good man. For better or worse, right?” he asks, already knowing the answer. He just wants to hear him say it.

 

“I’m yours, and you’re mine, Peter Stark,” Tony growls out, kissing him again, this time deepening the kiss so his tongue can push into the other man’s mouth for a taste. His hand comes up, cupping Peter’s cheek, and a sharp breath is inhaled through his nostrils.

 

Peter moans a little bit into Tony’s mouth, and shifts to lay back, pulling his husband down with him. He’s going to need that food soon; his stomach is actually growling, but right now, he needs this kiss to last forever.

 

Tony wants to crawl over Peter, to have his weight over the other man, but that’ll lead to all sorts of things he shouldn’t be doing outside of his wedding party. So, instead, he leans over him, and cups the back of his head, still kissing him as the seconds wear on. Okay, so maybe groping Peter’s dick through his tux isn’t on the up and up, but he does it, just because he wants to.

 

“Tony,” Peter pants out, hips arching into that touch. “We’re gonna get carried away and go to jail for public indecency on our wedding night. I need food, and Doc needs a beer, and then we need to head up to our suite.”

 

“Uh huh,” Tony murmurs, encouraging that arch with a stroke from his hand, before he pulls his hand away, and sits up, helping Peter to sit up. “Let’s get all those things done. Before you starve to death and Strange dies of thirst.”

 

“And before I have too big of an erection for my tuxedo jacket to hide,” Peter jokes, standing and dusting off his bottom before he helps Tony get the dirt off his. The pair accomplish food and beer, taking them back to the table, where he places Doc’s beer in front of him with a smile. “Hope you’re still thirsty.”

 

“That’s the thing about being thirsty. It gets worse with time,” Stephen says dryly, before taking up the beer. “Thanks, Peter.” He nods to Tony.

 

“You know, your magical ass could get your own beer. You could literally wave your fingers, and a beer would appear,” Tony points out helpfully.

 

“I wanted a Peter delivered beer,” Stephen counters. “I can’t magic one of those.”

 

“It’s true. If he could, there’d be two of me running around, and it would all kinds of chaos, because me with a twin? That would be awesome,” Peter decide, digging into his food. “We could do stunt web slinging and swinging and stuff.”

 

Both older men pause to think of what kind of awesome things might happen with two Peters, and it has nothing to do with stunts or web slinging. “Uh huh,” Stephen exhales, and has more beer.

 

“Yep,” Tony says with a grin, digging into his own plate of food and drink.

 

“You’d tell me, if you could do that, right, Doc?” Peter asks, oblivious, just teasing himself with the idea of having a brother of sorts.

 

“Technically, I could,” Stephen says slowly. “It just might not go as planned, so I haven’t tried it.”

 

“Oh God, you’ve given him ideas,” Tony groans, imagining a circus of Peters running around, with Strange trying to get at least  _ one _ of them to fall in love with him.

 

“But, think how  _ cool _ it would be!” Peter enthuses, taking another bite of his food and talking around the mouthful before he swallows. “There could be a Spider Man on duty full time. In shifts. It would be great!”

 

“It shouldn’t be done,” Stephen murmurs, thinking about how he’s going to do this. He takes a long pull of his beer, staring off into space. “Just think of how you’d feel if another me from another time pulled you through to his, and told you to go get to work.”

 

“Okay, I get it,” Peter says, mournfully. Because for a second there, he’d gotten kind of excited at the idea of having  _ two _ of himself. “That would suck. It would be like being stranded in Mexico, only indefinite. So, no. It shouldn’t be done.”

 

“Maybe you should repeat that a few times, just to make sure it sinks into Strange’s head,” Tony murmurs, eyeing the sorcerer.

 

“I’m not going to do it,” Stephen says, but whether or not that’s a lie, well, time will tell.

 

“Good,” Peter says, after a moment’s thought. “Because getting pulled into a time that isn’t yours sucks. I wouldn’t wish that on anybody, let alone myself.”

 

“Yep,” Stephen mutters, having another swig of his beer.

 

“Well, now that that’s all settled, what’s the progress you’re making on your food, kid? Because I’m almost done, and I have some important business to discuss with you in the bedroom,” Tony tells him, shoveling another bite of beef into his mouth.

 

Peter groans with the words. “Uh, Mr. Stark? Speaking of business... We, uh, might need to postpone our honeymoon. I, ah, that is... Pepper told me to tell you she quits.” He squirms with the words, since he’s basically the reason she did it.

 

“What? Oh. Yeah. I guess I didn’t kiss her ass enough. I was meaning to do that, but then I forgot,” Tony muses, finishing off his plate of food. “Why is this something that’s going to interrupt my honeymoon?”

 

“Because you’ll have a company to run, you know, since Pepper won’t be doing it?” Peter points out helpfully. 

 

“Strange, do you-”   
  


“No. Not it,” Stephen defends before Tony can even fully ask, getting up from his chair with his beer. “I have magical things to ponder. Have a good night, Peter,” he tells him, squeezing the younger man’s shoulder, then nodding to Tony on his way out.

 

“He probably would have fucked it up anyway,” Tony grumbles, sitting back in his chair.

 

“Probably,” Peter says, more to agree with Tony than out of any real opinion on the matter. Although it makes sense. What does a neurosurgeon sorcerer know about running a massive corporation like Stark Industries?

 

“Okay, new plan. We have our honeymoon tonight, then head back to work in the morning. They’ll have to miss us for what, half a day? Things’ll be fine for half a day,” Tony mutters, not liking that his planned week off is down the drain now.

 

“And, as soon as we find a replacement, we can take our time off and go do the honeymoon thing,” Peter promises him, leaning in for a kiss.

 

Tony kisses him softly, touching his cheek gently, then nods. “Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. You about ready to hit the hay, kid? And by hit the hay, I mean go back to our room and get seduced.”

 

“Yeah, Mr. Stark. I think I’m ready to blow this party,” Peter breathes out softly, his skin tingling where Tony touched his cheek. “Do you think we stop the party for our grand exit, or just slip out quietly and let them have fun?” he asks, looking out to where there are still plenty of people drinking and dancing.

 

“Let’s just slip out, and let them have their fun. Rhodey actually found a lady to hit on. I’d hate to give her an excuse to duck out now,” Tony says, standing and taking Peter’s hand and tugging him along. Without Stephen here, they shouldn’t have anyone notice them leave. Stephen, though, he’d notice. He’s very protective of Peter.

 

Stephen, however, is far from Peter’s mind as they make their way to their room. He waits near Tony, while the other man works with the door lock, running his hands over him and kissing his neck, making his job of opening the door that much more difficult. Finally, the door opens and the pair tumbles into the room, with Peter giving him a wicked grin. “So, about this seduction you have planned...”

 

Tony stops short, and takes in that wicked grin with a soft expression. Absently, and while completely distracted by his husband’s face, he lets the door shut behind them. Then both hands move up to cup Peter’s face, lightly calloused thumbs smoothing over the corners of his mouth. He breaks out into a sudden grin, “Feeling seduced yet? I know I am.”

 

“Yeah, Mr. Stark,” Peter breathes out as those thumbs stroke at the corners of his lips, making his mouth ache for a kiss. “I’m definitely feeling seduced. Then again, I always am, with you,” he points out, his hands raising to cup his husband’s face in turn. He just stands there for a long moment, looking deeply into Tony’s eyes, and then he leans in for that kiss he so wants, opening his mouth for the other man’s tongue.

 

There’s a groan that’s fed into Peter’s mouth from Tony, his tongue pushing inside for a deep taste. Quick, deft movements are made to start stripping his husband, working on the bowtie and all the buttons. Once the skin of his chest is revealed, lips caress a muscled shoulder, licking up along it to the side of his neck, which he gives an open mouthed kiss. A hot breath is exhaled against the wet skin, then his mouth lifts to Peter’s ear, exhaling words into it. “I’m not stopping tonight until you’re sleeping with me buried inside you.”

 

Peter shudders heavily with the weight of those words, the shiver of it moving up his spine slowly. “ _ Fuck _ ,” he breathes out, thinking about that. It’s something they’ve only really done the one time, but it had been fantastic. “I want to sleep like that. To wake up with you still buried inside me. To just keep going, when we’re conscious again,” he rasps out, his own hands moving to slowly bare Tony, watching with rapt fascination.

 

Once Peter’s gotten the clothing off his torso too, Tony kneels, and goes about helping Peter out of his shoes and socks. Then he buries his face against the other man’s groin, nuzzling his cock through his trousers, before a hand gives his groin a firm squeeze. Then he’s jerking trousers and underwear down and off, Peter’s cock springing free. Tony stays kneeling, undoing his belt slowly as he stares up at his husband, until he’s freeing his own cock, and giving it slow strokes. With his other hand, he grabs Peter’s cock and guides the head to his mouth, giving it a hungry suck.

 

Peter exhales roughly as Tony sucks at the head of his cock. It’s already hard and the suck earns him a drop of precum to swallow down. Tender hands smooth through Tony’s hair, and he lets his hips roll forward slowly, feeding a few extra inches of his shaft into his husband’s mouth. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” his whispers in an awe-tinged voice as he strokes the other man’s hair.

 

“Mmf,” Tony makes the quiet sound when he’s slowly fed more cock, dark eyes trained up at his husband’s. Red tints his cheeks ever so lightly for the movement coupled with the compliment. His change back into his younger self hasn’t gone over well with everyone. Many miss the older man look he once sported. So the compliment feels good to his slightly wounded ego. He pulls back enough for Peter’s cock to pop out of his mouth with a soft sound, his hand jerking it a few fast strokes before his tongue works a slow path up the underside.

 

That slow slide of his tongue earns him a harsh groan that’s exhaled unabashedly to hang in the air between them. “You’re so good at that, Tony. Those lips are perfect for wrapping around my cock. So pretty,” he mutters hoarsely, watching him with dark eyes that just keep getting darker with arousal.

 

“You really think so, Mr. Stark?” Tony breathes out, before wrapping his lips around the head of Peter’s cock again. He’s just not as good at deepthroating as Peter, but he likes to try to push his capabilities as far as he can in order to give a good blowjob. Bit by bit, his lips slide down the shaft of Peter’s cock, until it hits the back of his throat and his gags hard against the head.

 

Oh, there’s that flare of satisfaction at being called Mr. Stark while his husband is sucking his cock. “I do think so, Tony,” he replies in a careful tone, watching as Tony makes that inch by inch progress down his shaft. “In fact, I  _ know _ so. You’re so very talented at sucking my cock like this,” he states, as more precum is fed into Tony’s mouth from his throbbing erection.

 

A sharp series of breaths are taken in as Tony slowly slides his head back, lashing his tongue against the head of Peter’s cock and tasting that precum. It makes him moan softly, then whimper as he gives his own cock a few frantic strokes before he makes himself let it go. He’s pulling his pants and boxers down and off in the next moment, along with his shoes and socks, getting a little tangled as he does things out of order. Sure, he falls back on his ass with a laugh at some point, but he gets the job done, before letting out a pant and staring longingly up at Peter. “Mr. Stark. I need you to claim me.” He shifts onto his knees, gives Peter’s cock head one more suck, then he’s moving gracefully to his feet.

 

“I need to give you what you need, Tony,” he says seriously, watching the lithe man stand in one fluid motion. He moves to kiss his husband’s mouth, his tongue claiming the slightly younger man’s mouth with his. His tongue delves deeply, stroking and tasting, until he’s groaning into Tony’s mouth. Then, he helps himself to squeezing the man’s ass, and pulls him close enough that he can lift him to wrap his legs around his hips and carry him the steps to their bed. 

 

Laying him gently on the mattress, Peter breaks the kiss, to look for the lube. When his fingers close around the bottle, he’s stroking some of it onto his cock, then using that same slick hand to smooth some onto Tony’s. He takes his time with applying the lube, giving long, full strokes to his husband’s cock before he climbs into the bed, and covers Tony’s body with his own. “I’m going to have you so slowly, Tony,” he breathes the words into the other man’s ear. “Until you’re begging me to come. Until you’re begging me to let you come. And then, you’ll have me until we both pass out from exhaustion.”

 

Even with as strong as Tony is, now that he’s younger again, it’s nothing compared to the natural strength Peter has. So when he’s picked up, it makes his breath catch, strong arms clinging to his husband’s body as he’s laid down. By the time Peter’s breathing words into his ear, his cock is throbbing hard, and leaking precum. “I love the sound of that, Mr. Stark,” Tony says tightly, bowing his head to give Peter’s shoulder a suck. His hands slide up and down Peter’s back, and then he shifts his arms so they’re above his own head and against the pillows, dark eyes staring up at his husband’s.

 

Peter takes the cue with a little smile, moving those hands to cross at the wrist, so one strong hand can grip both of them, holding him firmly in place while his other hand whispers down Tony’s body. He gives his cock a few short jerks, then grips his own cock, lining it up with Tony’s opening. “I’ve fantasized about this for two years, and my dreams didn’t do the moment justice,” he says thickly, as he nudges his hips forward pushing the head of his thick cock past the tight band of muscle there. Dark eyes bat shut, while he drinks in the moment, and then open to look into his husband’s eyes. “You’re perfection.”

 

Tony pushes against the hand that’s like steel keeping his wrists pinned, and lets out a soft groan for the confinement. Then he’s staring, rapt with attention as his husband tells him how long he’s waited to take him, Tony’s cock twitching as the power of those words overcome him. A loud moan is released when he’s penetrated, before Tony bites his lower lip and flushes from the involuntary noise. “You’re. You’re everything I want and need, Mr. Stark,” he pants out.

 

“And I’m  _ yours _ . I always will be,” he reminds the other man, kissing at that bitten lower lip before he gives a few short, slow thrusts. They don’t gain him much more depth, but the rocking against his husband feels fantastic and has his nostrils flaring. Then, he’s seeking for more, pushing his cock deeper and deeper into his husband until his hips are tight against Tony’s ass. “ _ Mine _ ,” he says in a voice that’s just shy of a snarl. “You’re going to always be mine, Tony.”

This man waited for him for two years. It just keeps sinking in deeper into Tony’s skull, the power of Peter’s love for him. Sure, Tony turned back time to have a longer life with this man, but it was also hardly a sacrifice, compared to waiting two years to have him in his arms again. It’s an incredible concept to take in while taking Peter’s cock to the hilt, and then he’s staring intently into his husband’s eyes.

 

“Always,” Tony swears it. “I will always be yours, Peter Stark.”

 

Peter stares down at his husband, and he sees a change on Tony’s face as he speaks. He’s always gonna be Peter’s. Maybe yesterday, Tony wouldn’t have waited, if it had been him thrown back in time. But he knows that he would  _ now _ , and that fills his chest to bursting. Kissing the other man passionately, he starts to thrust, taking his time while he uses the hand not holding Tony down to stroke his cock in time with his thrusts. “ _ Thank you _ ,” he says roughly before he takes the other man’s mouth again, this time peppering kisses down his jaw to his neck and shoulder, where he picks a spot to bite down and leave his mark.

 

Tony gasps into Peter’s mouth after he’s thanked, kissing him frantically, giving his husband’s tongue needy sucks. Then he’s panting as more kisses are peppered along his body. By the time Peter’s marking him, it’s like a religious experience, some kind of fucking spiritual awakening. His body begins to tremble with it, those slow thrusts just making it worse, his skin bruising under the pressure of Peter’s mouth. A whimper is sounded, and then his hips gingerly lift for the next forward thrust, and then the next.

 

“Good boy, Tony,” Peter murmurs against saliva slick skin. “Let me hear your noises. I want you to feed them to me,” he raises his head to keep kissing his husband, and speeding his thrusts enough to start to drive the other man crazy. He angles his hips to push into his prostate and presses into it again and again with rolling hips. “You’re fantastic. The very best.” The words just keep coming, in between long kisses, adoring Tony and everything he is.

 

_ Good boy, Tony. _ It makes a blush bloom all over Tony’s body, it feels so good to hear. It’s also a little embarrassing, to feel that good about being a good boy, and being called out on being one. But he’s certain Peter will never brag, or tell anyone how good of a boy he really is for his husband. So soft sounds are fed into Peter’s mouth, that slowly climb to something close to frantic, his hips swinging into the thrusts given to him without being quite in sync with what’s going on, since Peter’s going so much slower than him. When the kiss breaks for more adoring words, Tony is quick to voice his needs, gasping out, “I need to come, Mr. Stark. I need you to let me come.  _ Please, sir. _ ”

 

At once, Peter’s hand speeds and so do his thrusts. He’s eager to give his husband what he needs, and he pushes him hard toward that moment when he knows Tony’s on the edge, his cock throbbing and weeping precum, while his testicles are hard and tight against his body. He looks down into Tony’s eyes, and issues a single command for him to follow. “Come.”

 

Tony’s body bows sharply beneath Peter’s, crying out wordlessly as he’s allowed to come. His eyes shut tight, and a tear for each eye falls down the outer corner of his eyes to disappear into his hairline. His cum decorates Peter’s hand and his own stomach, hips giving small little bucks into his husband’s cock. His ass clenches, tightening and milking the cock buried inside it. Then, this warm feeling starts in his chest, and works its way throughout his whole body, as his body relaxes beneath the other man, and his eyes open to stare into Peter’s.

 

Peter grits his teeth to keep from coming when his cock is squeezed and tortured by the spasms of Tony’s orgasam. He keeps moving, coaxing every bit of sensation for him, then he’s letting go of Tony’s wrists, that hand drifting lower to brush at the corners of Tony’s eyes, then cup the back of his head. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed, Tony,” Peter whispers to his husband, his hips rolling with slow thrusts that just feel magnificent. He’s going to come soon, really he is, but he needed to see this first, needed to live in this moment with Tony.

 

“I feel so fucking good right now,” Tony whispers hoarsely, blinking hard to try to clear his head. But it’s hard to think, with Peter still doing those achingly slow thrusts. That’s about when he realizes his arms are no longer pinned, and he decides to use them. They wrap around his husband, before he throws his weight to flip them neatly over so he’s on top. He sits up, a hand pushing against Peter’s chest, rocking his hips back so that cock is fully buried in his ass. He swallows hard, and then begins to ride that cock at the same slow pace, his own erection already starting to get hard again.

 

Adoring hands trace all over Tony’s body, Peter unable to keep them still for even a moment. They slide along his sides, down to squeeze his hips, then caress those strong thighs that are giving him such a magnificent ride. He takes a deep breath, and wills himself not to come too fast, so he can enjoy the slow ride for as long as possible. “I’m the luckiest man alive,” he murmurs, brown eyes staring into brown eyes as he arches hips upward, just once.

 

“The luckiest, and with the best stamina,” Tony manages thickly, hanging his head and closing his eyes. He takes deep breaths, working on getting his breathing under control, but that cock in his ass just feels so fucking good. He keeps that ride slow, wetting his lips with his tongue, and opening his eyes after a few short seconds so he can stare down at his husband. “You are magnificent,” he whispers.

 

“I’m only a mirror of you,” Peter manages thickly. “You gave a kid from Queens the whole the fucking world. Then you took a broken hearted young man, and you gave him  _ you _ . You’re everything a man should be. You’re perfect, and you’re mine.” That slow ride is killing him, he wants to come so badly and he takes a deep breath, buying himself a few additional seconds to watch his husband ride.

 

Those words fill Tony’s heart near to bursting, and makes him hop faster on Peter’s cock. He presses a hand to his husband’s chest for balance, his other hand jerking his own cock in time with the rapid bouncing. “ _ Yours _ ,” he manages in a strangled voice, before his eyes shut tightly and he’s gripping the head of his cock, trying to stop another orgasm. The effort is in vain, though, cum shooting forth through his fingers as he lets out a whimper. His ass clenches and flutters around Peter’s cock, milking it all over again as Tony just keeps hopping on that dick.

 

This time, Peter’s powerless against the insistence of Tony’s orgasm. His whimper is the final straw, and Peter comes hard, buried to the hilt in his husband’s ass. It just seems to last forever, his cock throbbing hard as his cum decorates Tony’s inner walls. He groans out in surrender with the intensity of it, and keeps his eyes locked to the other man’s. “Fuck.  _ Fuck _ , Tony,” he bites out the words as the world seems to explode around him.

 

Tony’s ride slows to a gradual stop when Peter’s cock finally stops filling him, and then he collapses against his husband’s chest, panting. “Know how I said I was going to make love to you until you fell asleep with my cock buried inside you? Well…” He gives an embarrassed laugh. “I think the opposite might be about to happen, because I don’t want to move from this spot, and I’m exhausted.”

 

“I think that’s perfect,” Peter breathes out, stroking Tony’s back with soft hands. The mental image of sleeping buried in his husband is even better than the image of the inverse, and that had been pretty spectacular. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” he admits as he keeps up those slow touches, hoping to lull Tony into that sleep he knows he wants to succumb to.

 

“I bet I’ll wake up horny. So good luck with that,” Tony rumbles sleepily, before yawning against Peter’s chest, and mumbling something about the motion stabilizers as he falls fast asleep. His body relaxes, and his breathing goes deep, the man at peace and safe against the husband he only had to miss for three minutes.

 

 

**A/N: I just want to thank everybody who stuck with us for so long. This story will probably be wrapping up in the next chapter or two, and we hope you've enjoyed it so far.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second-to-last chapter of Sparks Fly. We considered making it the last, but there just seemed like enough aftermath to warrant one more chapter. This one is dark and angsty the last will be much, much lighter. Somebody in the comments suggested putting a tag in here for Strange's one-sided obsession with Peter. I guess you'll see some of that in this chapter, too, though not to the same extent as the previous chapter. Thanks to everybody who's stuck it out with us, as this piece turned from light and fluffy to hurt/comfort. Enjoy.

Months pass and life for Peter and Tony fall into a great routine. They don’t often get to work together in the lab, with Tony stepping in for Pepper, but they make time to have lunch together, and they make love around the clock, when they aren’t at work or doing something critically important for Team Stark.

Most of what Peter’s been working on is tech for the team, and he’s really got a knack for it. It’s almost enough to distract him from the fact that he hasn’t seen his best friend since the wedding.

Almost.

It’s strange to go from living with somebody and taking almost every meal with them to not seeing them at all, but that’s what’s happened. Fine. If that’s what Doc needs, to not be around him, Peter’s going to give him that.

Even if it makes him miserable in the moments he lets himself think about it.

As more time wears on, and their libidos start to cool to reasonable levels, Peter finds himself thinking about it more and more often. He’s still quiet, and maybe he’ll never be that same carefree young man he was before he spent those two years in Mexico. But, he’s reasonably happy, until he starts missing Doc.

He’s sitting at the bar, sipping on a Dos Equis, waiting for Tony to come up to the penthouse after his last meeting for the evening. They’ve talked about going out for dinner, but if the man’s really tired, Peter’s on standby to cook, or at least order take out.

Then, Peter can hear the whispering of Stephen’s magic making a portal in the living area of the room behind him, and the man steps out, the portal closing behind him. He’s dressed in the garb he wears when he’s, well, saving the world, and from the looks of things, he’s fresh from a fight. Maybe it was a close one, for the opponent to have actually drawn blood, a streak of it at Stephen’s temple and down the side of his face, from a small cut.

It was enough to snap Stephen out of not seeing Peter.

Multicolored eyes focus on the younger man, and then he steps closer, taking a seat beside him at the bar. His hands fold, and his elbows rest on the bar, tapping his lips once with the sides of his fingers in thought as he stares forward. “So. How’s marital bliss?”

Peter slides his beer sideways, so that it’s in front of the sorcerer, since he looks like he could use it. “Great,” he says flatly, still looking ahead. “You didn’t need backup?”

“I didn’t have time,” Stephen murmurs, taking up the beer and staring at it. It’s about three quarters full, which means Peter’s had some. Oh, he’s going to enjoy drinking this. He takes a slow sip, then turns in his chair, holding the beer on the counter with a hand while watching the younger man. “Are you very upset with me, Peter?”

“It comes and goes,” he says quietly, cracking his knuckles one by one, his eyes intent on the movement. “Right now I’m furious, but some of that might be worry. And, you know, actual fury that I wasn’t there to help you.” He drops his hands and looks at the other man, taking in that fresh cut. “Hold still. I’ll get the first aid kit,” he says rising and heading for the bathroom.

There’re cuts peppered along Stephen’s skin, ones that are starting to bleed through his garb, and are shown by the small cuts in the fabric. So many times he’d come so close to dying. If it hadn’t been for the anger of his enemies, he’d have sworn they were toying with him, not trying to kill him at all. But no, they’d sincerely tried to take the top of his skull off at some point, and nothing short of fate being on Stephen’s side got him through the encounter. That, and, well, maybe a little bit of skill.

Stephen’s silent for the voicing of Peter’s anger, drinking his beer and watching as the younger man goes, and comes back. The cape he’s wearing tells on him a bit, patting Stephen’s bleeding arm hard enough to make him hiss, bringing it, too, to Peter’s attention. “Traitor,” the sorcerer says over his shoulder at the cape.

“Shirt off,” Peter tells him as he start to unpack gauze and ointments and alcohol. He’s no doctor, but he’s pretty good a patching up these sorts of wounds by now. He and Tony both get them enough in their lines of work. Not the Stark Industries work, the other, more dangerous work they do.

He starts by cleaning each wound he comes across, the lack of shirt making it easier to catalogue the injuries. Then, he bandages them, depending on severity ending with the nasty looking head wound. “Do you have a headache? I have ibuprofen.”

Multicolored eyes close for the tending to his wounds, Stephen taking in slow, deep breaths. It feels good, being doctored by the young man, feeling those fingers whispering carefully across his skin. There’s absolutely nothing inappropriate about it, but Stephen savors it all the same. When Peter finally speaks again, to ask him if he has a headache, the sorcerer solemnly shakes his head. “No, thank you. This is helping,” he says, giving his beer a lift and drinking some. “May I borrow a t-shirt? My shirt is pretty much ruined, and a touch on the gross side, now.”

“No problem,” Peter says, gathering up the medical supplies and taking them back to the bathroom. He returns with a clean, black t-shirt and hands it to Doc. “It’s one of mine, so it might be a little tight on you,” he warns him before he puts it on. Peter is a few inches shorter and more slender than the other man who has a bit more muscle on his frame.

Stephen pulls the t-shirt on, then frowns down at himself. “I look like Captain America now. His shirts never fit. You won’t tell on me, will you?” he tries for a joke. Before Peter can answer, he’s fishing keys out of his pocket, and holding them up to the younger man solemnly. “Keys. To your new lair. It’s in the basement of Sanctum Sanctorum. You’ll have to come by and see it sometime, whether I’m around or not.”

“You planning to be gone a while, Doc?” Peter asks, staring down at the keys and taking them with a serious expression. The penthouse doesn’t really have keys, but he’s got keys he carries with him to Aunt May’s, just in case. He pulls the ring out of his pocket and slides the new keys in place, before tossing the set on the bar.

“No. I wanted it to feel like yours, instead of something I did for you to see when you happen to come over. Just don’t touch anything that isn’t in the basement,” Stephen says lamely. He’s pretty sure that didn’t even scuff the wall Peter has between them. Then again, he supplied most of the bricks for that wall, by being gone for so long after the wedding. He picks his beer back up and finishes it, just in time for Tony to come swaggering into the penthouse.

“Hey, Cap,” Tony murmurs to Strange, taking a look around at the bloody shirt on the floor and the cape posing on the bar counter like one of those French girls next to Peter’s keys. Which seemed to have doubled since last time he saw them. Shrugging, he moves on to Peter, giving him a quick kiss. “Did I miss anything?”

“We both did,” Peter says, finding a smile for his husband. “Doc swung by after all the fireworks were over for a beer and some patching up,” he sums up their meeting so far. “You guys hungry? I’ve got take out menus,” he doesn’t figure Stephen wants to go out in public in his too-tight t-shirt. “I also have the makings of fajitas in the fridge, if you don’t want Chinese or Indian.

“Oh, Chinese food,” Tony perks up, picking up the menu and pouring over it.

“Let him cook, if he wants to,” Stephen implores Tony. “His fajitas are absolutely delicious. Almost as great as his street tacos. Have you tried the guacamole he knows how to make?”

“That’s nice, Strange,” Tony half mutters, mostly ignoring the man.

“You two wrestle it out, and tell me what I’m doing,” Peter says, heading into the kitchen, because he’s betting Doc will win this round and he’ll be making those fajitas. He might as well start chopping and slicing now.

“But, Chinese food…” Tony complains when Peter heads into the kitchen.

“Shut it, Tony. You get to sleep with him. You’re giving me this,” Stephen says in a hissed whisper.

“Fine. But I’m dicking him down good tonight for this,” Tony whispers back.

“...You know he has fantastic hearing, right?” Stephen asks, quirking a smile.

“So that’s a yes on fajitas?” Peter asks mildly, already peeling an onion.

“Yes. Do you need any help in the kitchen?” Stephen calls back, because of course now that Tony’s made an ass out of himself, he’s going to drive it home with some sucking up.

“No. You boys have fun catching up,” Peter calls back, already done with the onion and moving on to the green pepper.

Tony fetches himself a beer from behind the bar, then begrudgingly gets one for Strange, too, shoving a lime slice in the bottle before sliding it over to him. “Here. I’d drink some of it for you first, but my saliva just isn’t the same, is it?”

“It’s really not,” Stephen murmurs, taking up the beer and having a drink. Someone’s been spying on the security cameras. That’s fine. Stephen didn’t do anything wrong, and if he had, he wouldn’t give a fuck if Tony Stark knew about it.

“I didn’t think you’d come around again. You’ve been gone for, what, six months? Sure, you show up for Team Stark fights, but then you’re gone again. No shawarma. Peter has really missed you. And I like it when Peter’s happy. So cut the shit, you fucking prick,” Tony tells him, standing on the other side of the bar from him and having more beer.

Stephen is saved from replying when Peter hisses out a curse from the kitchen that sounds like pain. He’s up in a moment, and dashing into the kitchen, stopping short in the doorway and frowning with concern. “Are you alright, Peter?” he asks.

Tony ducks under Stephen’s arm, and is immediately at Peter’s side, checking to see what happened. Seeing that Peter must have burned himself, he starts the cool water in the sink, and guides Peter’s hand beneath it, murmuring comfort to the man and generally fussing over him.

“I’m okay, guys,” Peter says, holding his hand under the water. “But somebody needs to toss the fajitas, while I cool this down. He’s touched by their concern, and he gives Tony a quick kiss for fussing over him. He gives Doc a smile that touches his eyes, the latest of his current bout of anger dissipated.

Stephen goes to toss the fajitas, wanting to make himself of some use to the younger man, while Tony continues to fuss over Peter. He tells himself it’s good that Tony loves Peter so much and is showing it, instead of letting it make him absolutely, unbearably jealous. Stephen has no right to be jealous. Peter never asked him to love him.

When the burn is soothed by the water, Peter takes over cooking the fajitas and before long, he has them served on plates with trimmings and flour tortillas. “So. Is there any chance whoever tried to take your head off might be coming back to get the other side?” he asks, worried about his friend, especially since he hadn’t called for help.

“The forces of darkness are usually after the head of the person that keeps the Time Stone,” Stephen drawls, unconcerned. “These particular people won’t be coming back, but there’s always more.”

“Well, that sounds fun,” Tony says brightly, tearing off a piece of tortilla and using it to scoop up some fajita pieces and eating them. “How about you let your team actually help you fight off the forces of darkness, instead of, you know, going all cowboy.”

“Is that what we’re calling fighting for one’s life now? Going all cowboy?” Stephen asks. Really, having two sarcastic men in the same room might create a tear in space and time.

“Doc said he didn’t have time to sound the alarm. I’m thinking I need to develop some sort of alert system. Kind of like that really old commercial with the old lady who fell down and couldn’t get up, but for superheroes,” Peter says, already thinking ahead to how he could make it something that each of the team members would carry and be able to use on the fly.

“Did you just-” Stephen begins, staring at Peter as he gawks a bit.

“Yeah, old man, he did,” Tony pipes up cheerfully, eating more fajitas. He’s really getting a kick out of the look on Strange’s face.

“What?!” Peter looks between the two men. “I just said-”

“I know what you said,” Stephen says quietly, cutting Peter off. “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious,” he adds, wiping his mouth on a napkin and standing. He makes a motion with his hand, and the cloak on the bar whooshes over, settling on his shoulders, dropping his shirt into his waiting palm. The other hand is used to open up a portal, and Stephen is out of there.

“Someone’s sensitive about his age,” Tony muses, looking a bit delighted, judging by the gleam in his eyes.

“But, I didn’t say anything about his age. I just said. Oh.” Peter droops, and stares hard down at his plate. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant we need them for the whole team. I was trying to figure out how to make it something Wanda might actually carry, since she doesn’t wear a suit.”

 

“Hey, don’t worry about him. He’s just had a hard day. I’m sure that’s it,” Tony tries to smooth things over, reaching over to clasp the other man on the shoulder and squeeze it. “Maybe you could make it be like a necklace, or a thing to stick on one’s clothing somehow?”

“Yeah. Maybe something like that,” Peter says lamely, pushing his food around on his plate. “Hey, Mr. Stark? You think it’ll be six months before we see him again?” he asks quietly, worried about not seeing his friend. Sure he doesn’t see Ned much any more, but Ned was his childhood best friend. They grew apart, after graduation, which happens sometimes. He feels like Doc is his adulthood best friend, and he misses him terribly, when he’s gone for long spans of time.

“I’m not going to let him do that to you again, kid,” Tony murmurs decisively, a hand moving to smooth through Peter’s hair. “Tomorrow, I’ll go talk to him, and set things right. Okay?”

“You don’t have to do that, Tony,” Peter assures him with a sad smile. “He’ll come around when he’s damned good and ready. Besides, it’s hard for him, I think, to see us so happy together. I don’t blame him, if he wants to move on.”

“He’s your best friend. If he wants to stop being your best friend because you’ve got a man, then he’s a shitty person. You think he’s a shitty person? Because I’m hoping he’s not, so I’m going to talk to him,” Tony insists. As much as he’d love to give into disliking Strange, Strange is good for Peter. It’s good to have friends.

“I always had a man. It’s just that for two years, he didn’t have to see it every day. This is different,” Peter tries to excuse the other man, to justify his actions to Tony. “But, if you feel like you need to talk to him, I won’t try to stop you or anything. I just don’t think it’ll help, is all.”

Despite Peter’s lack of confidence in Tony being able to help, the man decides he’ll definitely be going to Strange’s place tomorrow to have that talk. So they finish their meal, and tumble into bed soon after. They’re both pretty tired, so the love making is slowly done, until they fall asleep in each other’s arms, sated.

#

The next day, before work, Tony gets up early and gets ready to go to see Strange. He looks over at Peter who’s managed to stay sleeping during Tony’s morning routine, but doesn’t wake him, just smiling a little to himself. The kid never sleeps enough. He won’t wake him.

On the way out, he notices those keys on the bar counter still, and realizes… There must be keys on there to Strange’s place. Frowning, and hell bent on testing that theory, Tony picks the keys up and takes them with him. He gets his driver, and off he goes, until he’s getting out of the car outside the place on Bleecker. He goes through the keys, and after about the third one, finds the correct one for the front door. “Knew it,” Tony grumbles, not sure how he feels about Strange just… giving Tony’s husband keys to his place.

As soon as he steps inside, there’s a small plaque with a spider emblem on it, and an arrow pointing to the stairs leading down to the basement. “Okay, what kind of freak shit do we have here?” Tony mutters to himself, curious, and heads down into the basement.

The first thing that stands out to him, as he flips on the lights, is the giant TV screen. Tony gives a low whistle, and scans the room further. No love swings. No bondage setups of any kind. No whips, gags, belts, nothing. Just a model of the Death Star made out of Legos in the corner, some gaming table in another corner, bookshelves filled with games and Blu Rays, various gaming systems, and a long bar along the side of the room.

“What a fucking nerd,” Tony dismisses the room, though he has to admit, it’s perfect for Peter. It’s obvious that Strange spent the past six months thinking a lot about the younger man, and working to set up something to lure his friend back into his life. The thing is, Peter would have been in Strange’s life, if Strange had just come around once in a while.

So back up the stairs Tony goes, finally calling out, “Hello, anyone home?”

He wanders the first floor, one room turning into another, to the point he knows there’s some kind of magic going on, because the house isn’t big enough for the labyrinth he’s encountering. He goes through libraries and sitting rooms and even what looks like a dojo before he comes to a flight of stairs that leads up. He takes the stairs two at a time, calling out intermittently for Strange, but gets no answer. Maybe the sorcerer isn’t actually home right now.

On the second floor, he finds himself in a room full of oddities, with everything from the skeleton of some animal he doesn’t recognize to an onyx orb that floats a handspan above it’s base. Reaching for the orb, with the intention of tossing it up in the air and catching it, like a baseball, he wraps long fingers around it, and then he begins to shake.

Long minutes pass that feel like an eternity, and he can feel his body stopping, cell by cell, starting with his toes. A cold flush spreads upward, leaving dead paralyzation in its wake, and still he can’t let got of the orb.

Then, his eyes glaze over and Tony Stark knows no more, except the name ‘Peter’ echoing in the last moment his mind is able to produce thought.

 

#

 

Stephen steps through a portal and into the kitchen of his home, a smile on his face. Someone’s been here. He can feel it.

“Peter?” the sorcerer calls out hopefully, immediately heading down the stairs and into the basement. There’s no Peter to be found. Frowning, Stephen goes back up the stairs, and starts looking around. It’s definitely not a being of the dark that’s come inside, because he’d feel the difference.

“Peter, I told you not to wander around and touch anything!” Stephen says suddenly, beginning to rush through the Sanctum Sanctorum as a cold fear takes him. Something is wrong. His voice can carry throughout the house when he wants it to, and whoever is here isn’t answering him. Because… they can’t.

Horror crosses Stephen’s face when he finds Tony, frozen in place and in time, arm outstretched with the black orb in his hand. There’s some measure of relief in knowing that it isn’t Peter, but this is almost as terrible, because Tony Stark is Peter’s everything. With a grim expression, Stephen knows what he has to do. He reaches forward, and grabs the orb, giving it a hard pull, intent on taking Tony’s place.

Except… Nothing happens. The orb seems to be part of Tony’s hand now, cold and immobile. Realizing he’d been holding his breath, Stephen lets it out sharply, then curses, letting the orb go. He’s going to have to tell Peter about this. He’s going to have to let him know that Tony’s in frozen in time.

Stepping back and to the side, Stephen throws a portal into the air, then steps through it, into the R&D lab Peter’s currently working in. He tries to keep his face carefully neutral. “Peter…” he says softly.

“Ah!” Peter spins, dropping into a defensive stance. It’s hard for enemies to sneak up on him, with his spider sense, but drop a well-meaning friend into his midst, and it’s a major blind spot. 

Almost as soon as he recognizes his friend, he gives a relieved smile and straightens. “Doc! What are you doing in R&D? I’m really glad to see you, but you’ve never come to see me in my office before,” he babbles a little, a happy grin on his face, because his friend didn’t stay gone for six months this time.

Oh God. Peter’s just so happy and it’s to see him. Stephen swallows, and steps forward, wrapping his arms around Peter in a sudden, tight hug. Peter’s had to go through so much, and he’s so scared this will be that thing that finally breaks his best friend. “Peter, I have something to tell you,” he croaks, his voice thick with emotion.

Peter’s in shock when Strange throws his arms around him and hugs him tightly. Enough that it takes a second for his arms to tighten around his best friend. There’s only one thing that Peter can imagine would provoke such a response from the older man, and that’s something that will cause Peter pain. And there’s only one thing that would cause Peter the kind of pain that’s written on his friend’s face now. “What happened? Where is he?” he says hoarsely. He was going to go see Doc this morning, to try and convince him not to disappear again. “Was it a car accident?” How stupid, for Iron Man to go by something so asinine as a car wreck.

“He’s in my home. He’s not dead, or injured, but…” Stephen takes a deep, shaky breath, then lets it out with more words. “He’s frozen in time, for the next hundred years.”

Not dead, but close enough to. The next time Tony opens his eyes, it’ll be to a world that has long since ceased to have Peter in it. And Peter’s never going to... “So, how do we fix it?” he asks, managing to keep his voice steady. “How do we get him back? There’s always a way to get him back. He’s Tony fucking Stark.”

Stephen slowly releases Peter from the hug, now that he’s certain the younger man isn’t going to faint from the news. “I’m not sure how to get him back, yet, but I’m going to figure something out, I swear it, Peter,” he says vehemently, multicolored eyes boring into Peter’s. Now he sees what the Ancient One meant when she said Peter would need him again. It’s funny though. If he’d never gotten so close to Peter that he’d given him keys to his place, Tony would almost certainly not be in stasis right now.

“Can I see him?” Peter asks, his face blank to cover the bereftness he feels. It feels like steel shutters sliding down over his soul, because it’s happened again. Just like some sick part of him always knew it would. A hundred years. That’s practically never. Even if he uses Tony’s trick of pushing time through himself to keep himself alive for a hundred years, he’d be unrecognizable to his husband, when he woke up.

Stephen nods, his heart aching for Peter, and moves to throw up a portal. A hand takes Peter’s wrist, and he walks him through, before the portal closes behind them. Before them, Tony stands just as the sorcerer left him, paralysed in place by the black orb in his outstretched hand.

“I… tried taking it away from him, when I found him like this, but the orb is not moveable by any normal means. I think I might be able to find something to move it, however. Some sort of spell. There must be. It’s just a matter of doing the research,” Stephen says in a steady voice, wanting, no needing to feed into Peter’s hope that there’s something that can be done about this.

Except looking at Tony has taken away any hope Peter might have had. Tony’s just... not there. He doesn’t know how to explain it, but he’s looking at a cold, empty vessel. He reaches out a hand to touch softly at his husband’s hand, but the flesh is as cold as the ring on his hand. He pulls his hand back and turns away from Used-to-be-Tony. “Take me home,” he says in a voice so low it’s barely audible to the sorcerer. “I have to figure out what this means for Stark Industries. I want it to still exist, when he wakes up in a hundred years.” It’s all he can do for him, now. Leave him something that will occupy his time and hopefully give him peace when he awakens.

Stephen doesn’t argue with him. There’s no use in trying to give the young man hope if he won’t have it. The only thing the sorcerer can do is help him through this difficult time, and find a solution for him that gets him his Tony back. “Alright,” he says, throwing a portal up into the air, taking Peter by the wrist, and pulling him through. They’re in the penthouse living area, instead of Peter’s office, just in case Peter needs to break down.

Peter looks around, taking in the familiar interior of the penthouse, until dark eyes light on the bar. He walks over to it with a determined stride and pours himself a tall measure of Tony’s Scotch, tossing it back with a grimace. His mind works furiously, until it comes up with a plan of action. 

“FRIDAY,” he calls out. “Call Pepper. Use Tony’s number. She won’t pick it up, if I call,” he says, his voice hard. FRIDAY chirps out an affirmative, and the number begins to ring.

“I’m not coming back, Tony,” Pepper says by way of greeting, when she picks up the phone. 

“It’s Peter,” he says to her in that same hard voice. “Pepper, there’s been an accident...” Forget hard, his voice cracks on that last word. He clears his throat to continue. “He’s not dead,” he starts, and Pepper breathes an audible sigh of relief. “But, he’s not coming back. Not for a very, very long time. I need somebody to teach me how to run the company, so it’s still around when he wakes up.”

“Wakes up? Is he in some kind of coma?” Pepper asks, confused. “I know doctors. The best doctors on the planet. They’ll come out for Tony Stark.”

“It’s not a coma, Pepper. It’s... magic,” there’s a sneer in his voice when he says the word, as if it’s the most hated thing in his world, and maybe it is, now. “He’ll wake up in a hundred years, and he’ll need to have something to wake up to.” His voice comes softer and softer as he speaks, like he’s losing the wind out of his sails.

 

“Jesus, Peter. I... I don’t know what to say,” Pepper tells him, her voice carrying genuine sympathy.

“Say you’ll stop working on your tan and help us,” Peter implores her. “Just one more time.”

“I’ll be there Monday,” she promises, after a long moment’s pause. “Take care until then.”

She ends the call, leaving Peter with a bowed head, breathing rapidly through his nostrils. He’s not going to lose his shit. He’s not.

Stephen hadn’t missed the way Peter had sneered out the word magic. He hates magic, now, doesn’t he? And Stephen is the sorcerer that brought about the worst magic in the world for his best friend. Shame weighs down on the older man’s soul, to the point that he doesn’t feel like he even has the right to try to comfort Peter in this moment that he’s clearly needed.

But not having the right has never stopped Stephen before, when it comes to Peter.

“I’m sorry,” Stephen says hoarsely, swallowing hard. “I’m going to get you your husband back. I’m going to find a way.”

“You’re sorry,” Peter says flatly, raising eyes that blaze to take in the sorcerer’s face. “You got me sent back in time two years, and now this. But, you’re sorry.” His voice rises to near hysteria. “I don’t need you to be sorry, Stephen. I need you to be better.”

Peter so rarely says Stephen’s given name, and now he’s said it in a voice that’s breaking, and the sorcerer knows it’s him that’s taking the sledgehammer to this younger man’s soul. He wants to flinch away from the anger he sees, no, feels radiating off of Peter, but as much as he knows he deserves it, Peter deserves someone strong enough to take it even more.

“I’ll do better. I’ll be better, Peter,” Stephen says quietly.

Before Strange can even finish speaking, Peter’s hit his breaking point. A hand flashes out, knocking the crystal low ball glass from the bar with a tinkling shatter, and then he’s falling back, onto the floor with his knees pulled to his chest so he can sob brokenly against his arms. Tony’s gone. He falls onto his side, still curled in up in that ball with his hands over his head, like he can protect himself from the reality of it.

Booted feet approach the sobbing young man, and then Stephen is moving to scoop him up into his arms. He settles down onto the floor with him, and just holds him, a distant look on his face as he stares forward, multicolored eyes going through possible scenarios from what little information he knows about the black orb, dismissing some as he plays them through his mind, and cataloging others to try later, when the end result he hypothesizes is inconclusive. It’s not quite as good as actually experimenting, but it’s a start that he can do now, even as he holds Peter.

Peter sobs, clinging to Doc’s shoulders, and Stephen holds him in silence. Eventually, the younger man quiets in his arms, his head lolling to the side against Stephen’s shoulder as exhaustion and sleep overcome him. 

Stephen stands, still holding him, and stares at the master bedroom, hesitating. Perhaps waking up amid his husband’s scent isn’t the kindest thing he can do for his friend. So, instead, he lays him on the sofa, and goes to the guest room to fetch a blanket, wrapping it around his friend. Then he leaves to begin the work of undoing the spell that holds Tony captive.

#

Stephen and Peter are back to sharing breakfast and dinner together, with lunch taken separately, given their work schedules. It’s kind of like Mexico, all over again, except Peter is less animated, less alive than he was, even then. He listens to Strange talk about his latest experiments without hope or agenda, rising dutifully at the end of each meal, shaking his hand, and returning to meet Pepper after, so he can learn to take over the company.

After the first week of both men working nearly non stop, Stephen shakes Peter’s hand after dinner, then keeps gripping it when the man goes to let go and get back to work. “Wait,” he says gently, searching Peter’s eyes. “You’re going to run yourself into the ground, at this rate. We’ve got to take breaks sometimes. Okay?”

“What did you have in mind?” Peter asks cautiously, carefully pulling his hand back and folding them behind his back. He’s wearing a suit that would have made Tony proud, and maybe a little jealous, but that’s just his uniform now.

“The beach. Rico with his saintly behavior. The mechanical bull. Or, hell, you could come to the lair I built for you that you still haven’t seen. We could do anything, Peter,” Stephen tries to coax him. “Please consider something. Anything. I’m open to whatever suggestions you might make.”

“I don’t have time for a Mexican vacation,” Peter dismisses. He thinks about the so called lair that Stephen built for him, but then he thinks about its proximity to Used-to-be-Tony. He hasn’t been able to bear going back since the day Tony was put into that stasis. Swallowing hard, he puts forth another option. “You could help me find a place to live,” he says finally. It’s a break inasmuch as it’s not work, at least.

“I can do that,” Stephen says after a moment of silence. “Whatever you need, Peter.” Peter wanting to live somewhere else is a sure sign that the younger man has given up on ever seeing Tony again. But… Stephen will take any distraction at this point to give Peter some relief. Besides, maybe living somewhere else while they work on their respective tasks will help both men relax more. It’s not as if Peter can’t simply move back into the penthouse, once Stephen’s gotten Tony back for him. Then life can go back to normal.

“I just can’t keep seeing his stuff every day,” Peter says, as if the older man had questioned his decision to find another place to live. “And, I can’t bear to get rid of it. Which is stupid. In a hundred years, it’ll all look like an anachronism. But, maybe if the penthouse is exactly the way he remembers it, it’ll help him when he wakes up.” From the sound of things, Peter’s planning to close the penthouse entirely.

“I don’t think it’s stupid at all,” Stephen says quietly. “I think you’re doing the best you can with this situation.” He clears his throat, then asks, “Would you like to get started now, with finding a new place for you to live?”

Peter hesitates. There are a dozen things he’d planned to get done tonight, but Pepper isn’t actually waiting on him to finish, so he could do something different. “Sure,” he says after a long moment’s thought. “It’s a little bit late to talk to a real estate agent tonight, but we can look up some places on my laptop. Get a feel for what’s available.”

“I think that sounds like an excellent start,” Stephen tells him, giving him a slight smile. He follows Peter to the laptop, then to the couch, where Peter sits and he settles down beside him as the younger man boots up his computer with it on the coffee table. He slouches heavily against the couch, exhausted, but welcoming this distraction, and the extra time it affords him to spend with his friend.

Peter’s just as tired, and within half an hour of looking at apartments near Stark Tower, he finds himself dozing off, his head falling back against the sofa, then lolling over to rest against Doc’s shoulder. It’s obvious that he’s still sleeping on the couch every night, with the blanket and his pillow shoved to one end of the seat.

Stephen lets his eyes close once Peter’s fallen asleep. He doesn’t want to move, so he simply stays where he’s at, and lets sleep take him as well. Slowly, his head tips to the side, and rests against Peter’s, the men resting there as the hours pass.

 

#

 

Three weeks later, Peter’s closed on an apartment that isn’t as nice as the penthouse. It isn’t even the nicest place he and Doc looked at, but it’s closer to the Tower than the nicer places, and that means more to Peter than the extra bedrooms or the view. He hires a decorator to come in and make it look like a functional home, because the only thing Peter’s ever actually decorated was a dorm room. Even the penthouse had been decorated by Pepper, long before Peter got there.

It takes the decorator another two weeks to work her magic, and then Peter’s confronted with his first night in a bed that he didn’t share with his husband. It’s a little hard to wrap his head around living alone, because he’s never actually done it, so he invites Doc to have a housewarming party with him. He has every intention of getting the man too drunk to open a portal and making him sleep in a guest room. At least for the first night.

“I brought pie,” Stephen says, stepping out of the portal and holding up the cherry pie he clearly bought and didn’t bake himself, judging by the box it’s in. “Since, well, it’s a housewarming party, and I think you’re supposed to bring gifts to those.” He glances around, even if it’s not the first time he’s seen the inside of this place, before his gaze settles on Peter.

“It’s not much of a party, but thanks for the pie,” Peter grunts, going to the bar to get the other man a beer. “Hey, did you ever hear that really old song, ‘Cherry Pie?’ HOMER,” he calls out to one of the Stark AIs that he commandeered for his own. “Play Cherry Pie.”

“I love this song,” Stephen murmurs, chuckling quietly over Peter calling it really old. He takes the pie to the kitchen and sets it on the counter, then comes back in time to take the beer from Peter. “Thank you,” he says, having a sip, and settling on the couch. “Did you feel like teaching me some moves on one of your fighting games, or doing something else?”

“I don’t have anything planned,” Peter says sheepishly, moving to the television and the gaming console to turn them on and insert the game disc. Then, he moves to the couch, next to Doc and drops down, handing the other man his controller. “Okay,” he says as the game loads. “Pick your character, and I’ll teach you some of the moves. I doubt you’ll play enough to memorize moves for all the characters, but you can at least have a few go-to characters to play.”

Stephen picks a character and listens avidly as Peter begins telling him the combos he needs to learn as they play. At some points, the older man just laughs and spams the kick button, but mostly he’s sincerely trying to get things right. He plays until his beer is gone, and then gives the empty bottle a shake, the lime inside rattling around.

“Want to drink some tequila next, Peter?” Stephen asks the younger man.

“Always,” Peter says, climbing off the sofa to go and set up the shots at the small bar he’d had installed. It’s not as impressive as the full bar in the penthouse, but he’s working with a lot less space here. Remembering that Doc likes the lime and salt part of shots, he gets them ready, then waits for the other man to join him.

Stephen grins at that reply, and goes into the kitchen with his empty beer bottle to rinse it and drop it in the glass recycling. Then he joins Peter at the bar, sitting on one of the stools in front of him. “The decorator really did a fantastic job with this place,” he murmurs, before licking his own hand and sprinkling the salt on the damp skin, then passing the salt shaker to Peter.

“Yeah, well, I paid a small fortune for the package where they didn’t fuck it up,” Peter says dismissively, without looking around. He could care less about this apartment, except that it doesn’t have the ghost of Tony hanging over it. “How are things on Bleecker?” He asks carefully, wondering if Tony’s still standing there like a statue or if he’s been moved, but unable to actually ask the question.

“Things are as quiet as you might expect. I made Tony comfortable. Laid him down in a bed in a guest room, put a pillow under his head, and a blanket pulled up to his arms,” Stephen says softly, not picking up his shot quite yet, waiting to see how Peter takes the mention of Tony.

“He’ll appreciate that, when he wakes up,” Peter says quietly, fingers toying with the rim of his glass. “I appreciate that. Thank you, Stephen,” He stares down at his glass for a moment that seems like it might last forever, then downs the shots and makes his way to the window, to stare out at the view he doesn’t really have anymore. He wonders idly, if somebody will think to keep Tony dusted, like the rest of the furniture in the room, and he feels sick for thinking of it.

“You’re welcome.” Stephen. He called him Stephen. It makes the sorcerer’s heart skip a beat, and then he’s downing his shot as well. Huh. He’d forgotten about the salt and lime. Dusting the salt off his hand, he watches as Peter makes his way to the window, multicolored eyes focusing on the ones in the reflection. They look so sad, and Peter looks so pale.

“I planned to get you drunk enough to sleep over,” Peter says suddenly, his voice subdued. “I thought I couldn’t stand being alone here tonight, but now I wonder if inflicting my company on anybody is the right thing to do.” He’s become so cold, since Tony’s been gone, the animation of his face and voice all but gone, traded for something very hard, almost steely.

Stephen stands up from the bar stool, and makes his way over to Peter, tucking his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t need to be drunk to sleep over. I’m your friend,” he explains to Peter, looking out the window with him now. “Your company isn’t an infliction. It’s something I look forward to.” Something he craves. Oh, but Stephen doesn’t dare say that. He hasn’t had nearly enough tequila for confessions.

Peter nods once, to show he’s heard, but otherwise is still, his mind churning over the idea of Tony as an object. Forever at rest, until somebody moves him. Collecting dust, but not creating any of his own. 

He needs another drink, if he’s going to get through the night without losing his shit.

“Hope hurts too much, doesn’t it? It’s just easier to decide there isn’t any,” Stephen says slowly. Sure, he’s about to open a festering wound here, but it needs to be done. It needs to be drained, and medicated, and healed. He might not be able to do that in a night, but he can at least try to give the other man some relief from his pain by talking it out.

“There’s nothing to hope for, anymore,” Peter says coolly, going back to the bar. “I’m going to have a glass of Scotch. Would you like one?” He slides behind the bar and grabs the crystal decanter, pouring a measure into a glass for himself and another for Doc without waiting for an answer. 

“You didn’t have time to heal, after Mexico, before this happened. And now this…” Stephen shakes his head, and wanders back to the bar, taking up the glass of Scotch Peter pours and having a drink. It goes down smooth, and he stares at the glass after, his voice a little thicker, his drawl a little slower. “There is hope, Peter. I’m the Sorcerer Supreme. If anyone can get your husband out of that stasis, it’s me.”

“I believe that if anybody could do it, you could,” he says finally, after a few swallows of the Scotch. “I just don’t believe it can be done. Tony and I were never meant to grow old together. We tried to cheat Time and Time didn’t like it. So, she fought back. And when we beat her, she fought back harder. We’re not meant to win against Time, Stephen. None of us are.”

“Maybe it’s not about fighting Time, Peter,” Stephen says slowly, setting his Scotch down. He untucks the Eye of Agamotto from his button down shirt, and lets it hang heavily over the front of the material. Hands shift and spread in front of the pendant, and it opens, the Time Stone floating out of the container between his hands. Multicolored eyes don’t leave Peter’s for a long moment, then they’re just staring in the direction of the other man’s eyes, unseeing, as his brain races through possibilities.

Peter watches with narrowed eyes as Doc starts doing something that doesn’t seem to be happening inside this room. His expression is blank, but Peter can be patient while he does whatever he needs to with the Time Stone. Besides, he has a practically full glass of Scotch to get through while he waits.

“Fourteen,” Stephen says slowly, before his eyes focus on Peter, and he floats the Time Stone back into safe keeping. “There are fourteen possibilities in which Tony returns to you. I can’t see how to execute each one, but they’re there, waiting to be discovered.” He steps closer to Peter, and plucks his own glass of Scotch from the bar counter, having a drink.

Fourteen out of what, millions? Peter concentrates on the millions to keep hope from rearing its awful head.

But, that’s not what Doc wants from him, is it? He closes his eyes and bows his head, as if trying to wrap his head around that proclamation, and maybe he still is, in a way. Certainly he hadn’t expected the number to be as high as that. “Thank you,” he says, letting his voice come out thick. “Maybe we’ll get lucky, then. Maybe he’ll come back.”

“I’m a sorcerer of the mystical arts, Peter. I can see through someone bullshitting me, but I do appreciate the thought behind the effort,” Stephen says mildly, having more of his Scotch. “How about this: You keep being the poetry that you are, and I’ll keep being Mary Sunshine of the Hopeful.”

“Maybe I used to be poetry. Now, I’m a statement. There’s nothing hopeful or pretty about me. I’m just a mission; to keep the world and the company going for Tony to wake up to. Which he will do, in ninety nine years, ten months, and two weeks.” Peter drops the hopeful act and looks down at his glass of Scotch.

Stephen clears his throat, and begins to recite a poem he’s read before:

“Poetry,  
I feel is made up of three things  
Love  
Lost love  
And despair.”

He pauses to take another taste of his Scotch, then murmurs, “If that isn’t you, Peter, I don’t know what is.”

“Fine, I’m a fucking poem,” Peter mutters down into his drink. “All pitiable and morose because my husband just keeps being taken away from me.” He shakes his head, and takes another drink. “Go ahead and see me however you want. I know the truth.”

“I don’t pity you, Peter Stark,” Stephen says quietly. No, he loves the man. But no one wants to hear that, least of all Peter. And considering the hell he’s put Peter through, the younger man deserves better than his love.

“Good,” Peter lets out a harsh breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “I hate being pitied. Even Pepper pities me. It’s the whole reason she took the job; so she can see how miserable I am, every day. Only, she doesn’t get what she wants, because fuck her,” he snarls out.

The harsh breath and snarling captures Stephen’s attention, and has him setting his glass back down on the bar. Peter’s gone feral in his grief, and maybe it’s because, in part, Stephen has been too insecure or too much of a coward to give him what he needs. So the sorcerer coaxes quietly, “Come here, Peter.”

“I’m fine where I am,” he says dismissively, leaning against the bar. His mind is still on Pepper. On everybody who wants to see him lay down and die in his grief. On everybody afraid to act happy in his presence. On everybody waiting for him to fail or fall apart. Fuck them all.

“Come here, Peter,” Stephen repeats, a low growl in his voice. It’s very faint, but it’s there, even if there’s no anger behind the words. Instead, they’re simply firmer, and the sorcerer’s stare at the younger man is steady as he watches him contemplate all the reasons he has to be filled with hate.

“Or what?” Peter asks, glaring at him in return. “Are you going to bend me over your knee and spank me, Stephen? Fight me? What will you do, if I simply stay right here with my glass of Scotch?” Fury races through the younger man’s veins, now that he’s let himself get on that track.

 

“Do you want to be spanked, Peter?” Stephen asks the man, his blood spiking hot with the visual, especially combined with the man saying his given name.

“No, but I’m itching for a fight,” Peter bites out the words before he tosses back the rest of his Scotch.

“One of those is had more easily than the other,” Stephen says, going about rolling up the sleeves of his button down just a little bit more. “It wouldn’t be so much fighting me, as just another form of a spanking.”

“You cocky motherfucker,” Peter hisses out the words. Fuck suits and weapons. He’s going to enjoy this little brawl.

The Eye of Agamotto is tucked back into his shirt, and Stephen moves his hands in rapid succession after that, forming raw energy between his palms. Usually they’re used to make a weapon or shield of some kind, but instead of that, he just barely shapes a section of it with his right hand, before throwing it at Peter. It chases the man, even as Peter goes to dodge it, wraps around his neck, and sends him slamming against the wall near the bar, pressing tight against his throat to hold him in place there.

Another quick series of motions of his hand send up more bindings, stepping closer as he does so, until arms and legs are pinned to the wall as well, and Stephen dismisses the rest of the energy between his hands to return to the Source. He stops close to Peter, his brows lifting. “Saying I’m cocky would suggest I don’t have the skill to back up my words, Peter.”

“Yeah, you’re a regular badass, when you’re taking on an unarmed man,” Peter hisses out. “But, if I’d had my web shooters, you never would have made the first energy bolt.” He’d hoped for a fight, something skin on skin, and gotten more fucking magic.

“Is that what you need, Peter?” Stephen asks, pulling the energy binding away from Peter’s throat first, and dismissing it with a flick of long, elegant fingers. “To cover me in webbing?” Fingers itch to touch, but they keep their movements perfuntionary, pulling the other four bindings from Peter’s body all at once with a few motions, then dismissing them as well.

“If I needed that, I would have web shooters on,” Peter bites out, red in the face over how easily he’d been defeated. Iron Man would have lasted longer. Team Stark has definitely been left with the inferior Mr. Stark to lead them. So has Stark Industries. “I wish I could take his place,” Peter says, surprising himself when he does. The anger dissipates, leaving him with a crushing emptiness. “The world needs him. And, I’m just a cheap substitute.”

“The world needs Tony Stark,” Stephen agrees with the younger man. “The whole world.” As he breathes out the words, he stares at Peter’s face in a reverent sort of way, because he’s looking at his whole world in that moment. “You’re not the cheap substitute for Tony Stark, Peter. I am. If anyone needs to take his place, it’s me.”

And maybe that’s what was missing this whole time, after the initial attempt to take the orb from Tony. Stephen hasn’t been looking into possible solutions that include sacrificing himself for the other man. It’s so simple. He’d thought of it, then forgotten it. But that’s it. That has to be the key.

“That’s not funny, Stephen,” Peter says sharply, the color draining from his face. Because he’s about to find himself without his husband and his best friend and there won’t be anything good left of him, if that happens.

“I love you, Peter,” Stephen breathes out, fear coursing through his system. He’s about to leave, and step into a world that has no Peter Stark. It’s terrifying, but a quiet sort of acceptance fills him. “I know the spell, now. I know how to get you your husband back.”

“No,” Peter says with a kind of desperation. “You don’t. You know how to lose yourself, trying to get him back. I’ll be alone.”

“I didn’t say I know a way to try to get your husband back, Peter. I said I know the spell. I know how. If there is no sacrifice, there is no end result. That’s how the spell works.” Then, he thinks of the thing to say that will hopefully calm Peter’s fears. “If I’m wrong, it’ll just be another experiment that doesn’t work, and we’re left with what we have now.” He smiles slightly.

“I don’t want you to go. I can’t ask that of you,” Peter’s voice becomes more desperate, and tears threaten. “There has to be another way.”

 

Stephen reaches carefully, and cups the back of Peter’s head, before bowing his own to press a kiss to his brow. “This is it. This is the way.”

Peter is silent, his throat too full of tears to make words as he presses into that brow kiss and nods softly. He’ll live with this guilt for a long time, letting Stephen sacrifice himself to bring Tony back.

But, he can deal with the guilt, if Tony’s here to help him.

“When?” he manages to choke out the word, fear and dread filling him, because he knows these are his last few minutes with his best friend.

“It’s just a few words, and the only component necessary is myself. I could do it at any time,” Stephen murmurs, straightening, letting his fingers whisper through Peter’s hair, before that hand falls down at his side.

“It’s not fair,” Peter says hoarsely. “It should be me, not you. It’ll have less impact on the world, if it’s me.”

“If anyone could do it, I’d pick a nice, lovely forces of evil type of guy to throw in Tony’s place,” Stephen points out logically. Then he’s gritting his teeth, and staring steadily at Peter. “If you’re so unimportant, then why are all these very important men falling at your feet?”

“You got me there, Doc. I never could figure that one out,” Peter says, trying for a joke, but falling short of actually laughing.

“I have a small request,” Stephen says softly in the next moment. “I would like to hear you say my given name, just one more time. Please.”

Tears fill Peter’s eyes, then, acceptance finally settling over his face. He steps forward to wrap strong arms around his best friend and whispers thickly. “Thank you, Stephen. I love you, and I want you to know that when you wake up, not a day will have gone by that I didn’t say your name.”

“I love you, Peter Stark,” Stephen says quietly, long arms wrapping around his best friend in return as peace fills him with the other man’s words. The fear simply melts away. This is right. This is what needs to be done.

Long seconds pass in which Stephen soaks in the other man’s embrace, and then he reaches for Peter’s wrist, curling fingers around it as he turns to stand beside him instead. His other hand comes up, and throws a portal up into the air, leading to the guest room where Tony resides. He steps through it, and tugs Peter along, letting go after they’ve passed through.

Careful hands pull back the covers on Tony, and then he picks the man up, his body as stiff as a statue. He lays the man down on the floor, then kneels beside him, as if he’s about to meditate. “Step back until it’s finished, Peter,” Stephen tells the younger man, multicolored eyes lifted to take in Peter just one more time.

Peter steps forward to let his fingers ruffle through Stephen’s hair, then bends at the waist to kiss the crown of his head, the same way Aunt May always did for him, when he was small and scared. There doesn’t seem to be any fear on Doc’s face, but Peter’s plenty scared, and Aunt May isn’t around to do the honors. Then, he steps back, until his shoulders brush the wall and nods at the man.

Stephen’s eyes close a moment with the affection, and then open again as Peter steps back, focusing on the orb. He reaches out with his right hand, and begins reciting words in some long dead language, too soft to be clearly audible. He doesn’t think Peter can take his place if he tried at some point later, but just in case, he’s not going to hand the younger man the spell to do it. A warm glow overtakes Stephen’s body, the brightest point at his hand, and he keeps whispering as he gently removes the orb from Tony’s palm. He brings the orb to his lap, so his hands fold beneath it, cupping it, and with the final word, he lets his eyes close.

It seems like an eternity, and he can feel his body stopping, cell by cell, starting with his toes. A cold flush spreads up Stephen’s body, leaving dead paralyzation in its wake, and still he won’t let got of the orb.

Then, Stephen Strange knows no more, except the name ‘Peter’ echoing in the last moment his mind is able to produce thought.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it was intended for this to be the last chapter of the story, but the length just got out of hand, so we're breaking it into two chapters. Otherwise, it was going to end up being a 25k - 30k word chapter, and nobody wants that kind of madness. So, here's a slightly more reasonable 15k word chapter. The reason for the overage, is that there's a lot of hurt for our boys to heal, and we didn't want to rush or cheapen it. So, there's some angst this chapter and there are some nice moments, too. Chapter 14 is shaping up to be much nicer, so there's that to look forward to.

  
  


It’s all over. Peter blinks hard from his place against the wall, staring at Doc’s frozen form. He looks so peaceful. Like a particularly zen statue that had been carved by loving hands. Creeping forward slowly, he reaches a hand out to touch at the man’s jaw, finding him already cool to the touch, like marble. It’s funny, though, because where Tony had seemed like an empty vessel, the sorcerer still seems to inhabit his form. He’s just... dormant.

 

Then, Tony begins to move, a beringed hand raising slowly to rub at his face with a groan. “What happened?” Tony asks in a groggy tone.

 

“It’s a lot to explain, Tony,” Peter says quietly, reaching with a hesitant hand to cup his jaw. “We should go somewhere else, let Doc have some peace and quiet.” He helps the other man to his feet, and wraps an arm around his waist to help him leave the room. When they make it down the stairs, Peter sees the spider plaque with its arrow pointing to the basement stairs and leads Tony down them, wondering at this so-called lair Strange had built for him, but he’d never taken the time to visit.

 

When they reach the bottom of the stairs, he takes in the room with a lump in his throat. It’s the perfect escape haven for him, with all his favorite things, including a bar. “Here. Have a seat. I’ll get you something to drink,” Peter says, planting Tony on the couch in front of the giant TV and going for a bottle of water, instead of a beer.

 

“One second I was looking for Strange, so we could talk-” Tony cuts himself off, taking the water and drinking the bottle down in great gulps. “And the next second I’m on the floor, and Strange is… Meditating?” Tony still sounds disorientated. “And you’re there, when you weren’t before. I left you at home still sleeping.” Tony blinks hard, then turns dark eyes to his husband. “It was that orb, wasn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, Tony. It was the orb,” Peter says heavily, sitting next to his husband on the couch. “You’ve been in stasis for a while,” his voice is grim as he explains the situation in the fewest words possible. “Doc figured out a way to get you out, but he had to take your place. He’s gone.” Peter stares at his hands, cracking his knuckles, one after the other.

 

That has Tony sitting quietly for a long moment, his brain suddenly working furiously at this latest problem. Because that’s what it is, right? A problem to figure out? “That’s bullshit,” he says suddenly, jumping to his feet and striding for the stairs. “He’s not gone. He’s just sitting there.”

 

“For the next hundred years, he’s gone. It’s a timed stasis. And it’s magical, so the only way to break it is with magic.” Fuck magic. Peter  _ really _ hates the stuff. “Do you want to know how long it took him to figure it out?” Why is Peter so calm? He should be beside himself with joy at having Tony back. Or he should be crying, because Doc’s gone. Maybe the two cancel each other out.

 

Tony stops short at the bottom of the stairs. “Couldn’t have been that long. You  _ seem _ older, but you don’t have wrinkles yet. You’re as beautiful as ever,” he says, with the corner of his mind that’s not working on the problem. And then it hits him. Tony, you self-centered asshole. You’ve been  _ gone _ , and now Peter’s best friend is  _ gone _ , and it’s like Mexico all over again, just a hundred times worse.

 

“Oh, Peter, I’m so sorry,” Tony says when it hits him, leaving the stairs to go back to his husband. He kneels down in front of him and takes his hands, dark eyes staring up into dark eyes. “You look so good in this suit. Like me, but more…  _ Peter _ .”

 

Dark eyes squeeze shut, even as his hands squeeze at Tony’s. “I’ve been on very good terms with your tailor, lately,” he says woodenly. “I needed a new wardrobe, and I knew he’d take care of me. Like he always did you.”

 

“How long,” Tony prompts Peter, taking a closer look at the younger, no,  _ older _ man’s face. By rights, Peter’s body grew older than him after Mexico, and now who knows how much older he is than Tony. For now, the problem with Strange’s self-sacrificing ass takes a backburner to the pain that Peter is so obviously in.

 

“Not long. Six weeks,” Peter says dismissively. “It could have been a lot worse.” But, oh, how much has changed in those six weeks. And how quick they’ll seem, compared to a long life without his best friend. “It shouldn’t be too hard to dial back whatever changes you don’t like. Pepper’s been teaching me to run the company, but she hates every minute of it. I closed the penthouse and moved. Minor things.”

 

“Okay, pending you telling me there’s a great reason why the penthouse should stay closed, we’re definitely going back to the penthouse. Can I fake dead-ish for a while to see how long Pepper keeps running the company with you? Because that’s a pretty sweet deal,” Tony tries to joke after his very serious comment on the penthouse, both of which sound about the same. It’s so hard understanding Dick-ese.

 

“You can, but you’ll have to stay at my place while you do it. I left strict instructions that the penthouse be sealed off until you came back to use it,” Peter says, taking him seriously. “I need a drink,” he mutters absently, standing and making his way to the bar to pour himself a measure of Scotch.

 

“Just kidding. I mean, I like having Pepper back, but not enough to give up my penthouse.” Tony straightens, looking around. There’s no bed in here, but… “Did you move in with Strange?” he wonders. Maybe he doesn’t want to know the answer to that, since there isn’t a bed in here.

 

“No. I bought a place a few blocks from the Tower,” Peter says, irritation showing through the answer. “And unless I’m mistaken, that’s the second time you’ve asked me if I was intimate with Strange while you were absent. I wasn’t then, and I’m not now.” When Tony’s gone, that part of him seems to mostly just switch off. Except in Mexico, he’d at least spent time jerking off while dreaming about Tony. “This is the ‘lair’ Doc built for me. Today’s the first time I’ve seen it,” he says softly before he helps himself to another swallow of the Scotch.

 

Tony straightens, standing slowly. “What can I say? I’m jealous. I try not to be, but I think I am,” he admits quietly. “And now he’s in stasis, because I’m an asshole that can’t keep my hands off magical goodies that happen to be shiny. So that’s nice. I mean, when does the saga of how self-sacrificing Dr. Stephen Strange is end?” Tony rakes his hand through his hair, and begins to pace. “At least if he had the balls to try to seduce you, I could be angry about something, but no,  _ Stephen _ is just too good and wholesome for that, isn’t he?”

 

“That name is for  _ me  _ to say,” Peter growls quietly, his voice a harsh rasp. “Never let it part your lips again, Tony.” There’s a thunderous silence for the words, while Peter takes another drink of his Scotch. He’s not getting drunk off this one drink, but it gives him something to do with his hands, instead of trying to strangle his husband. “And I suppose  _ Stephen _ stops being self-sacrificing in a hundred years. When he wakes up to a world he won’t know. Without a single friendly face to welcome him back.”

 

In that thunderous silence, Tony stares at his husband, and commits the warning to memory. He swallows around the lump in his throat, and just stands there, body so tense it could be winding up to spring into action at any moment. But he suppresses the urge to move, other than the fraction his chest rises and falls for breath.

 

This is all Tony Stark’s fault.

 

“No. It’s not going down like this. I’m not living the rest of my life with this weighing on my soul,” Tony finally growls out, and this time he doesn’t stop at the bottom of the stairs, going up them two at a time. Up more stairs until he’s in that guest room where Strange rests. Tony stops short in the doorway, and stares at the son of a bitch with an expression that’s conflicted. He wets his lips, and steps closer, kneeling down in front of the man whose eyes are frozen closed. He sniffs once, looking the man over, then gives a heavy stare to the orb in his hands.

 

“If you think I’d rather have him back than you, you’re crazy,” Peter says flatly from the hallway, having taken a moment to finish his Scotch before he followed Tony up the stairs. He knew where he’d end up, mostly because it’s where  _ he’d _ have ended up, if the roles were reversed. “He knew that. That’s why he’s there, and you’re not.”

 

“I’m not saying  _ I _ want to be in stasis either,” Tony says quietly, still staring at the orb. Then he laughs, a humorless sound. “When does it end? I mean. That just makes it so much worse, knowing you don’t even…” Dark eyes narrow at Strange’s closed ones. “You don’t get to do this,” he growls out.

 

A strong hand comes to rest on Tony’s shoulder, Peter stepping closer to speak softly into his ear, “Let’s go back to my place. I have a bed that’s never been slept in, and I’d like to sleep in it with you, if you don’t mind.” His other arm wraps around Tony’s middle, tugging him close so that his back is aligned to Peter’s front. “We can talk, if you want. Or not.” Peter’s struggling, too, right now, only his struggle is with what he doesn’t feel, but should. It’s like the wedding, all over again, only a thousand times worse. At least, maybe, he can help Tony to feel better, if he can talk him out of here.

 

Tony sniffs hard, a shaking hand lifting to point a finger at Strange’s face. “Fuck you, buddy,” he mutters, like maybe he didn’t even hear Peter, he’s so caught up in his own internal storm. But then he’s slumping back against Peter’s chest, and dropping his hand to his side, his head hanging. “Yeah, let’s do that,” he says woodenly.

 

“Okay, Tony,” Peter says softly, turning the man in his arms. “There’s just one thing I need to do first,” he says, quietly, cupping Tony’s jaw with the hand that isn’t helping to support the man. He brings his lips to Tony’s in a soft, questioning kiss, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to do it. He might not be, considering the fight they just had and the state of Tony’s mental well being, but he tries it anyway.

 

The kiss isn’t rejected, but it comes with a sob that’s fed into Peter’s mouth. Time keeps separating Peter and him, and he feels powerless to stop it. Sure, it’s only three minutes for him, or a split second that feels like eternity, but it’s so much longer for his husband, and so much more painful. And now it’s compounded by Strange in his new serene statue look, the fucking prick. So it’s probably the most pathetic kiss Tony’s ever given, but he tries, tears spilling down the sides of his face.

 

What Peter wouldn’t give for one of Strange’s handy portals right now, to get Tony back to his apartment, where he can start healing properly. Instead, he wipes at his husband’s tears with his thumbs, and murmurs a comforting, “It’ll pass, Tony. It’ll pass, and I’ll be here until it does. I’ll be here after that, too. I’m always gonna be here, waiting for you.”

 

A shaking breath is pulled in. “This is bullshit. You should be crying, I should be looking like a Goddamn asshole, and Strange should be rolling his eyes at us.” It takes a moment for Peter’s words to really filter in through the ego, but they do, making Tony’s eyes open and stare in wonder at Peter. “Thank you,” he says in a hushed tone.

 

Peter’s willing to bet that, somewhere, the sorcerer  _ is _ rolling his eyes at them. The thought makes him smile a little, and he presses his forehead to Tony’s. “I love you,” he says quietly. “Let’s call Happy, see if we can get a pick up. Or we can take a cab,” Peter says, pulling Tony away from the room with Strange in it. He says a quick mental farewell to his friend and promises to come visit soon. “You hungry? We could order in.” He wraps his arm around Tony’s back as he ushers him away, his hand rubbing absently at his arm.

 

“Does everyone miss me? Do you think that Happy could even drive right now with the news?” Tony asks between sniffs, trying to get his shit together, rubbing at his face with a hand. “How’s Rhodey? Did I get a funeral? Can you even declare someone dead that’s in magical stasis?” Tony stops short near the stairs. “I should take a look around, see if there’s any counter-stasis objects in here. After I eat. After we talk. After maybe I run around the block three hundred times. Why am I suddenly hyper?”

 

“First of all, if you as much as glance at anything in this house, I’m kicking your ass, if I have to get the whole team to help me do it. Second, and more importantly... Pick a question for me to answer first.” Despite his instructions, he starts answering what he can remember. “Everybody misses you. We had a memory service for you. It was beautiful. FRIDAY probably has a recording of it, if you really want to watch it. Pepper cried. Rhodey just looked sort of... lost. We didn’t declare you dead, because of all the problems that would have caused when you woke up. My goal was to have a future in tact for you when the stasis was over. Something that you could look at every day and see how much I loved you.”   
  


“About how much of a dick does it make me to hold off on telling anyone I’m back until after we’ve spent some time in your place that you’re getting rid of very soon?” Tony asks, soaking in all that information into that genius brain of his. “I just don’t want a mob flooding your place, you know? I want some alone time with you. I want…  Well. I don’t know. I guess I have time to figure that out.”

 

“It doesn’t make you a dick to take a day or two,” Peter assures him, opening the door to let them out. “Fuck. I don’t have keys,” he realizes, patting his pockets.

 

“I have keys,” Tony remembers, taking them out. “Technically, they’re your keys. I borrowed them for this adventure I went on into the suck,” he explains, handing them back to Peter. Then he scrubs at his face, and takes a look at his phone. “Oh, sweet, I still have  _ lots _ of battery. The stasis thing didn’t fry my phone.” Because that’s important.

 

Peter takes the keys, staring down at them for a moment before he swallows back a stab of anger and locks the door. By the time he’s finished, he’s pushed it down deep, along with everything else and says, “Great, you can call us an uber with all that battery you have left,” in a mild tone.

 

“I’d rather use Lyft. They have that really cool pink neon sign most times that I dig. And you don’t so much call as you use the app,” Tony explains unnecessarily, getting the address from Peter and thumbing it into his phone. The ding goes off, and he announces, “Two minutes away. Our driver is the lovely Armando, driving a black Honda Civic.” Tony shows Peter the picture. Armando looks a little world weary in his photo. “He won’t even recognize me and want an autograph, not with as distracted as he seems with the meaning of life. Bet.”

 

“The only bet I’m making is me kicking Armando’s ass, if you look twice at him,” Peter growls out, pressing a kiss to Tony’s temple. The driver is a little faster than the app led them to believe, and they step forward, getting into the car. Peter’s silent, staring out the window, except when he’s checking his phone and sending back important work emails. Because those come in at all hours now, and need to be replied to as quickly as possible.

 

Meanwhile, Tony’s silenced his phone, because there’s a flood of notifications coming through, now that his device isn’t frozen in time. And, apparently, Rhodey’s pulled a Peter and texted him every day to tell him things while he’s been gone. Most of them look like drunk texts. “Okay, I need to tell Rhodey, before he leaps off a cliff,” Tony mutters mostly to himself while Peter works on an email. He decides to just do it now, dialing Rhodey’s number and letting it ring. From the sound of it, the phone is dropped after being answered, then there’s scrambling to pick it back up.

 

“Peter, this isn’t funny,” Rhodey says in a panicked voice.

 

“Hey, bud. You miss me?” Tony asks quietly.

 

There’s silence for a long moment, as Rhodey processes that statement and question through a haze of booze and remorse. Then he sniffs, and says, “Not really.”

 

“Good, so I’ll just disregard all the texts you sent saying the opposite of that,” Tony says dryly, a smile on his face.

 

“Show no one. I mean it, Tony,” Rhodey bites out, warring emotions going through him. “Tony… how? What? I mean… You were  _ gone _ . I saw you.” He chokes out.

 

“Strange brought me back. Now he’s a statue. So there’s that,” Tony says quietly. “Look, I’ll catch up tomorrow. I’m not really ready to hang yet. I just didn’t want you to have to wait to know I’m back,” Tony explains himself.

 

“Okay, whenever you’re ready, Tony,” Rhodey says, already sounding better for the conversation. “Take care.”

 

“Will do. You, too,” Tony says, ending the call. He pockets the phone after, and reaches for Peter’s hand to hold it, even as he looks out his own window.

 

“Pepper deserves to know sooner, rather than later, but I can make that call,” Peter says without looking over at Tony. “She put her life on hold to help me out of a bind and she had nothing to gain, except being close to my misery from it.” Maybe Pepper’s motives had been completely altruistic, but Peter’s too cynical these days to think so.

 

“I’ll make the call,” Tony says, Armando stopping the car in front of the building that, he supposes, is the right place. They get out of the car, and as Peter goes about getting them inside, Tony dials Pepper’s number.

 

“Peter?” she asks, surprised. “Why are you calling from Tony’s number again? You know I pick up your calls. Look, I sent over an email for you to look over. Sign off on it, and the Foster Fuel acquisition is a done deal-”

 

“Hey, Pep,” Tony says softly.

 

“Tony.” She breathes out his name, her eyes closing on her side of the line in a silent thanks. She’d been one of the few people to see him while he was in stasis, or she’d swear this was some new Tony bullshit, cooked up just to torture her.

 

“Strange got me out of stasis. He’s a statue now,” Tony says quietly. “So there’s that.” Sniff. “Thanks for coming back to help Peter while I was gone. What can I do to thank you? Maybe a giant teddy bear?”

 

“Just...Take care of the kid, Tony. He’s not alright, as much as he wants everybody to think he is,” she says quietly, thinking about the young man she’s been working with. He’s dark in a way that doesn’t seem natural, not from what she knew of him before.  She clears her throat to speak in her regular tone. “I’m guessing you’ll need a few days before you’re ready to make an announcement?”

 

“Yes, if you can spare them. Then maybe you could stick around for long enough to show me how to run my own company? Maybe a crash course? I do okay, but I don’t do it nearly as well as you do. That is, if I can’t convince you to come back full time,” Tony says, trying to push his luck. By then, they’re in the apartment, and Tony’s wandering around, checking out the decorations.

 

“Not a chance, Tony,” Pepper says dryly. “I’ll stick around to keep the shop open while you’re out, and I’ll keep working with the kid, after that, if you want. You’ve got a hell of a protege there,” she informs him. “The company will be in better hands, if he’s running it.”

 

While Tony talks to Pepper, Peter goes to the window, with its abysmal view, and folds his hands behind his back, waiting for Tony to take in his surroundings and finish the conversation he’s having with Pepper, so the other man can talk trash about the apartment. Back to R&D for him, he guesses, now that he’s superfluous to the Executive Management Team.

 

“Good idea. You know how much I hate running my own company,” Tony says brightly. “Talk to you later, Pepper.” Tony ends the call, then pauses by the bar. There are several shot glasses there, and he just knows one of them is Strange’s. So he doesn’t touch them, not knowing for sure which is which. Peter would want that one, he imagines, and he doesn’t feel he has the right to touch it. The glass of Scotch he imagines is Peter’s, but he doesn’t touch that, either, just taking in things. “How did you like running the company?” Tony asks, fingers smoothing along the bar, dark eyes watching them move.

 

“It was starting to feel familiar,” Peter says quietly, not taking his eyes away from the view. He needs to, he knows. Needs to hold Tony and take him to bed so they can talk better. And he will. Just not yet. “The only big change is the Foster Fuel acquisition, and Pepper shouldn’t have any problem bringing you up to speed on that. I didn’t sign off on it, before you came back, so that’ll be up to you.”

 

“Could we skip the part where I beg you to keep running the company, and you just run the company?” Tony asks in a hopeful tone. “Because you’re wasted in the R&D department when you could be doing the company running instead. I’d much rather play mad scientist than Fortune 500.” Tony wanders over to Peter, trying to catch his gaze in the reflection in the window. “Besides. You not wearing these suits anymore? That would break my heart.”

 

Peter chuckles at that and lets Tony catch his eyes in the glass. “If that’s where you want me, Tony,” he says. Maybe there’s a little bit of pleasure in the words, because he felt  _ useful _ on the Executive Leadership Team, but he plays it close to his chest, like he does most things these days. “Can’t have these suits gathering dust, can we?”

 

“That would be a crime,” Tony says solemnly. “Also, when did you learn the patented Dark Chuckle I’ve been perfecting for a few decades? You even do it sexier than I do.” Tony moves the half step closer, and presses a kiss to Peter’s jaw, an arm wrapping around him. Lips go to his ear, and he mutters into it, “You’re so painfully hot right now.”

 

“You only say that because I’m still wearing the suit. When I take it off for bed? I’ll have to beg you for a kiss,” Peter says, chuckling again. The Dark Chuckle just came naturally, when he was trying to learn how to  _ be _ Tony Stark, because the world couldn’t handle a Tony Stark-shaped hole in it.

 

“That’s not how it works at all. When I take off a suit like this? The kisses, they don’t get begged for,” Tony enlightens him. “I can understand you not knowing that, though. I mean, unless you recalled all the kisses I didn’t have to beg for from you when I took off a suit like this.” Come to think of it, he’s wearing a suit like that right now. Because he was going to head to work on leading his company right after talking to Strange. His arm wraps around Peter’s back, and he moves to stand beside the man, staring at the pair they make in the reflection. No wonder Pepper had called Peter his protege.

 

“Guess I forgot,” Peter says mildly, wrapping his arm around Tony in return, staring at their reflection, just like Tony is. They’re just not seeing quite the same thing, though, if Tony’s seeing Peter as his protege, because Peter sees the man he’s always going to try to be and never quite make it. “Think you can forgive me, Mr. Stark?”

 

“For what?” Tony asks softly, his mind going a million miles away, but pulled back by that sexy little  _ Mr. Stark _ . He neatly steps in front of Peter so he’s blocking the view, but affording him a better one.

 

“For forgetting,” Peter clarifies, taking in the other man, his focus wide to see all of him, before his attention narrows down to his eyes. He hadn’t missed that Tony drifted away from him the moment before he was called Mr. Stark. He remembers how being called that tended to get Tony’s motor running, and he regrets saying it at all, right now, because he’s not sure if he can actually perform. Maybe he can take a cock. Maybe.

 

Tony’s not sure where he’s at, engine-wise. Probably about where Peter is. Where he could  _ try _ , if he has to, but it’s not the top thing on his mind. Just. The Mr. Stark thing? That’s a hard to fight against reflex. “I’m starving. Are you hungry?” Tony asks him quietly.

 

Dark eyes fill with quiet relief. “Yeah. I’m starving,” he says taking out his phone to look up delivery food that’s still available to them at this time of night. “I don’t know what’s around here yet. It’s my first night in this apartment,” he says, explaining the absence of menus and favorite restaurants. “What are you in the mood for? There’s Thai that only has a 30 minute wait.”

 

“Fuck my need for instant gratification, because thirty minutes? Wow. That’s forever,” Tony grumbles. “Maybe I’ll cook something. Do you have any food here yet?” He steps past Peter and toward the kitchen, intent on looking around.

 

“I have a cherry pie,” Peter says, almost choking on the words. His throat closes up and his eyes water before he manages a deep breath to get his shit under control. There’s not much else here. He bought snacks for tonight, not real food. Doritos and M&Ms and a frozen pizza for when they were good and drunk. They being him and Strange, not him and Stark. What a strange twist the night has taken.

 

“I fucking  _ love _ cherry pie,” Tony enthuses, opening the box and grabbing a fork. He doesn’t even cut a slice, he just starts digging in, oblivious to the fact that this is a Strange cherry pie, and therefore sacred, like the empty tequila glasses on the bar counter in the next room. He wanders back into the living room, the open box of pie in hand, a happy expression on his face as he chews on the bite of pie. He swallows, then asks, “You want some of this?”

 

“No,” Peter says flatly, heading to the bar and ignoring the shot glasses to pour himself three fingers of Scotch with a trembling hand. “Eat it all,” he tells his husband as the throws the entire contents of the glass back in a single gulp.  _ It’s just pie _ , he reminds himself. It’s just pie, and it has to be eaten sometime, just not by him.

 

Tony, fortunately, is a fucking genius. He goes for a second bite of the pie, then notices those trembling fingers, and swallows hard, nearly dropping the pie when he realizes what he’s most likely done. “Oh  _ fuck _ ,” he curses, and puts the pie down quickly on the bar counter, like it might have burned him. “I’m so sorry, Peter. I didn’t even cut a proper slice.  _ Fuck _ , I swear I wouldn’t have touched it if I’d known.”

 

“It’s just pie,” Peter says with a calm he doesn’t feel, because his heart is pounding and his hand is still trembling a little bit. “You’re doing me a favor, eating it. Otherwise, we’d just have a frozen store-bought cherry pie in our freezer for the rest of our lives. Eat. You’re hungry.”

 

Tony looks pale. He grips the fork that he still has in his hand tightly, like maybe he’s trying to talk himself into eating that pie he’s staring hard at. Then he shakes his head, and retreats to the kitchen to wash the fork. Tony just keeps fucking up, doesn’t he?

 

Tony won’t eat the fucking pie, and Peter  _ can’t _ . So he closes the box and carries it into the kitchen before he tosses it into the garbage bin that’s never been used before. “You want me to make that pizza?” Peter asks quietly, going for the freezer to grab the box and hold it up. “Or do you want Thai?”

 

When he hears the pie go into the garbage, Tony feels sick. It’s just a fucking pie, but it isn’t. It’s Strange’s fucking pie, and now it’s just garbage. Fighting down bile, Tony turns to stare at Peter and the box he holds up. Various replies flick through his mind, and he tries to decide which one he likes best through the haze of emotions. “Thai. I need time before I can eat,” he says hoarsely.

 

Peter nods and takes out his phone to place the order. “You want pad Thai or panang?” he asks, knowing Tony’s favorites. He’s probably just going to get some shrimp fried rice and call it good. When Tony tells him what he wants, he puts in the order on the app and takes a deep breath before he steps forward to wrap his arms around the other man. “It’s okay about the pie,” he says gruffly, because he voice only seems to work in that mode right now.

 

“I don’t feel so good,” Tony says softly, feeling even more horrible for the fact that Peter is having to comfort  _ him _ when Tony’s supposed to be the grownup here. “I think I should sit down. Do you want to sit with me?” he asks quietly, willing his arms to move, so he can hug the man back.

 

Concern flashes in Peter’s eyes, fear that something might have gone wrong with the spell, and now Tony’s not alright. Concern turns to fear, because if he’s been given these hours and wasted them, he’s not going to be alright. “Are you okay, Tony?” he asks, ushering the other man to the couch and settling them down on it, keeping his arms around him, so he can’t slip away.

 

“I just feel like a complete fucking asshole,” Tony mutters, sitting heavily, and leaning into Peter’s embrace. “And I want to throw up, but I’ll be  _ damned _ if I puke up that bite of pie.” So Tony breathes through his nose in audible pulls, staring forward, his body tense. “I’m just sick of the shit Fate’s been throwing at us. Really sick.”

 

“Yeah. I get that,” Peter says, stroking Tony’s hair, to try and soothe him. “But, Tony, the pie’s just pie. It was still pie after you took a bite out of it. It was pie until I made it garbage.” Peter takes a deep breath, thinking of that pie in the trash, but he’s not fishing it out now. “It was always going to be eaten or thrown away.”

 

Slowly, Tony looks over at Peter, and stares at him for a long moment. “Okay,” he says, finally, throat working to say more, but he can’t quite manage it. There’s just so much crushing guilt. And there’s the fact that Peter has  _ changed _ so fucking much. He doesn’t dare voice that part though, even if he could talk, because then maybe Peter would feel guilty for changing.

 

“How are you feeling, Tony?” Peter asks him, point-blank, watching him try to speak without seeming to be able to find words. There’s something on the other man’s mind, and Peter wants to know what it is. Wants to know how to help his husband to feel  _ better _ than he feels in this moment. “Tell me what’s going on.”

 

“I feel like shit,” Tony finally manages. “How do you feel, Peter?”

 

“Remember how I felt before the wedding? When I didn’t feel anything, but I knew I should?” Peter answers his question with a question of his own. “I feel like that, but about a thousand times worse. I’m getting a second chance with you, and I’m fucking it up, and I just can’t seem to bring myself to do what I know I need to. That’s how I feel.”

“Well,” Tony begins slowly, taking one of Peter’s hands and lacing their fingers. “We’ve got the rest of our lives to figure out how to stop fucking it up, because I’m fucking it up too, and I just can’t seem to bring myself to stop. So… We’ll work on that.”

 

“Yeah. Might be a long-term goal,” Peter swallows around a lump in his throat, because he doesn’t want to live like he feels right now for the _ long term _ . He wraps his other hand around their clasped hands, stroking the skin. “You feel like a person again,” he whispers softly. “Before, when I saw you at Strange’s... you didn’t feel like a person.” That had been the worst part; thinking of Tony as an object.

 

“When I saw Strange there, the second time? When I went back into the room. I wanted to touch him, to see if he felt as much like a statue as he looked. I guess I was like that, huh? Except not in such a  _ badass _ pose,” Tony murmurs, smiling just a little.

 

“Doc definitely has a flair for the dramatic,” Peter says with a small smile. “But, no, it was different. He looks like a statue, but I felt like he was still there, just dormant. You were... an empty vessel. You were just... gone. Seeing you like that. It was the end of the world, Tony.” Tears prick his eyes, as he thinks back to it. “I didn’t see how you could ever come back from that.”

 

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” Tony whispers, lifting a hand to cup his husband’s face. “Let’s… Uh… Never do anything again that ends up with you having to suffer. Okay?” A lightly calloused thumb smooths the corner of Peter’s eye, as if waiting to see if those unshed tears will fall.

 

With the gentle help of Tony’s thumb, one does fall, and he bows his head forward, pressing his brow to the other man’s. “That sounds like a really good rule,” he laughs weakly, feeling better for the fallen tear and the proximity of his husband. He drags in a deep and shuddering breath before he presses his lips to Tony’s. He’s not trying to start anything, he just needs the connection. Needs to taste him and feel that he’s back. Both hands come up to cup his jaws as he tries to deepen the kiss, and when their lips part he says, “You’re really  _ here _ ,” he says hoarsely, another of those tears sliding down his cheek.

 

Tony leans in and kisses that tear stained cheek, before resting his forehead against Peter’s once more. “I’m really here,” he whispers hoarsely back. “And…” He sniffs. “We should try to get our shit together before the delivery guy gets here, or else he might call a wellness check on us.” He laughs faintly, trying on a smile for his husband.

 

Peter chokes out a laugh and it feels, well, maybe not good, but  _ better _ . “Tell me we’re going to be okay, Mr. Stark,” he says, sounding young as he says it. “Even if you have to lie, because I need to believe something, anything,  _ good  _ right now.” His voice thickens and he starts to cry softly, falling forward into his husband’s arms, clinging to the man he’d missed beyond reason.

 

“We’re going to be okay, Peter,” Tony says quietly, holding tightly onto the man. His hand rubs up and down his husband’s back, and his head turns to press a kiss to his jaw. “We’re going to be better than okay. We’re going to have this amazing life together. It’s going to be badass, because we’re the Misters Stark.”

 

Peter thinks about that for a long moment. It’s what he wants. It’s what Tony wants. And, it’s what Stephen wanted for him. “We  _ are  _ the Misters Stark. And, we’re going to have an incredible, long life  _ together _ . I swear it, Tony.” There’s a fire to Peter’s words that’s been missing from him for so long. “I  _ love _ you.”

 

“I love you, Peter Stark,” Tony whispers fervently, before giving him an achingly gentle kiss. That’s when the delivery guy knocks on the door. Or, presumably the delivery guy. “Hold that thought,” Tony murmurs, kissing him again, then getting up to check the door. Yep, delivery guy. Tony opens the door and takes the Thai food, promising to tip the guy and give him five stars on the app. Then he closes the door, and sets the food down on the coffee table. “Wow, either that was fast, or time is just dragging for us,” Tony murmurs, wrapping an arm around Peter.

 

“I can handle time going slow, when I’m with you,” Peter decides, snuggling up against Tony’s side and tipping his head back to kiss his jaw. “I want every minute to last an hour. Even the ones that are less than perfect, because they’re with  _ you _ .”

 

“We had our first fight,” Tony points out in a soft rumble. “Because I’m counting me saying something smart, you talking down to me in that Daddy voice, and me gawking at you after as a fight,” Tony says with a grin, squeezing him. “You hungry?”

 

“Starving.” Peter presses one more kiss to Tony’s lips, then sits up, handing Tony his food, then taking his for himself. They eat out of the containers, sharing bites with one another. There’s not a lot of talk, but there are plenty of loving looks exchanged between the two, until they’re finally done eating and Peter’s stretching out on the couch with his head in Tony’s lap. “I’m really looking forward to sleeping in a bed again,” he says softly, looking up at his husband with a soft smile.

 

“Where have you been sleeping?” Tony asks, concerned, fingers carding through his husband’s hair slowly. “And, no, I’m not asking if you’ve been sleeping with Strange. You haven’t. I get it,” he backpedals a little, just in case.

 

“On the couch,” Peter admits sheepishly. “I just couldn’t face our bed without you in it. And it took almost a month to get an apartment, then another couple weeks for the decorators to finish making it habitable.”

 

“We should get you to bed, then. So you can luxuriate in the softness,” Tony murmurs, giving Peter a smile as he offers a hand to help him back up. “Besides. I’m really looking forward to peeling that 3,000 dollar suit off of you. I haven’t gotten to do that since our wedding.” Then Tony looks down, frowning a little at himself. “I mean. I don’t know if I’m ready to actually  _ do _ anything once I have it off, but we definitely shouldn’t sleep with our work clothes on,” is added in a sheepish mutter.

 

Peter sits up to cup Tony’s jaw in his hand. “I’m really looking forward to you undressing me, whatever does or doesn’t happen after that,” he says quietly, because he feels about the same way. He’s still raw, and hurt, but who knows how he’s going to feel, once Tony’s hands are on him?

 

Tony guides Peter into standing, and presses a very soft kiss to his lips. “I love you,” he says, and he’s going to keep saying it, because six weeks have gone by without him being able to say it. At least, they have for Peter. He’s getting real damn tired of these time skips.

 

Peter gives him a smile that thaws his eyes, just a bit. “I love you, too, Tony. I’m so glad you’re home,” he murmurs next, before taking his husband by the hand and guiding him into his bedroom. Funny how he’d bought this place to be a Tony-free haven, and now on the first night he’s in it, he doesn’t need one anymore. He turns toward the other man, still pondering that thought, and begins to undress him, helping his suit jacket off first, then hanging it up so it doesn’t wrinkle.

 

“You’d think I’d need a shower by now, but I guess the stasis took care of stopping that sort of thing,” Tony muses, moving just right so Peter can undress him. He’s pretty thoughtful himself, brain drifting to Strange frozen in time for the next one hundred years. A darkness passes over his face with the imagery, but he doesn’t voice it, just gets quiet.

 

Peter cups his jaws in both hands, pressing a simple kiss to his lips before he begins unbuttoning his shirt. When it’s open, he leans in, pressing a kiss to his chest, just above the arc reactor, his lips linger a moment to savor the flavor of his skin. Then, he’s raising his head and helping Tony out of the shirt, so he can throw it in the hamper. “You want to play catch up?” He offers, rather than just reach for Tony’s belt, in case the other man needs a minute before they get there.

 

“Yeah,” Tony says slowly, before going about helping off Peter’s suit jacket. “I stole one of your hoodies and hid it with my stuff, the day I aged myself down to my twenties. So, if you’re wondering what happened to it, that’s what,” he murmurs, going for the buttons of his shirt next. “I have every intention of wearing it and giving it back, just… I thought you were going to maybe leave me.”

 

Peter blinks, then gives Tony a wide smile. “That’s the most...  _ sweet _ thing you’ve ever done, Tony Stark. Stealing my hoodie, in case I left you...” He chuckles, and leans in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “But, for the record? I’m never leaving you. You’re stuck with me until the end.” 

 

Tony kisses him back, smiling for the gushing Peter does. “I miss your hoodies. You almost never wear them anymore. You used to live in them. Can we both wear your hoodies tomorrow? At least for a little bit? We could both be kids, and go eat pizza and chicken tenders and otherwise fuck-off all day, because I’m on vacation.” Realization hits. “We never had our actual honeymoon. We should go on it while we still have Pepper around.”

 

“Hoodies and a honeymoon sound like the best idea I’ve heard in  _ ages _ ,” Peter says, grinning broadly. “Where do you want to go? Someplace hot or cold?” He hasn’t even thought about having a honeymoon in ages. They just never had time, but now they have a second chance and they’re going to  _ make _ the time.

 

“Someplace cold, so we can wear our hoodies and not be too hot,” Tony decides. “And we can build snowmen, and drink hot cocoa, and you could ski while I refuse to ski. It’ll be awesome.” He finally helps Peter’s shirt off, then smooths his hand over the man’s bare chest and abdominals.

 

“That feels good,” Peter rumbles out, eyes closing to better take in the sensation of his husband’s hands on his chest. “Fuck, I’d forgotten how good your hands feel, with those little callouses...” Peter’s voice catches, but he smiles as he opens his eyes to look at the Tony. “I love those callouses.” He thinks about going someplace cold and decides he likes it even better than the idea of laying around a beach with Tony, half-naked. “Let’s find a nice cabin to rent, maybe in Alaska or British Columbia, or something.”

 

“Want to get our on phones and do it right now?” Tony asks, before hands go to Peter’s belt. “I mean, after we’re done undressing? We could poke around and find all sorts of stuff. Do you think Pepper will mind? I mean, I guess I could play the I just got out of stasis card if I have to, but that seems a little low.” Tony is babbling, and his hands are just on the belt instead of unbuckling it.

 

“I definitely want to look on our phones right now. And I’ll ask Pepper if she can hold down the fort for a week,” Peter says, hoping the woman won’t mind. They need this, and surely she won’t begrudge them the time, not after what they’ve been through. “Of course, you could butter her up with flowers first, just to let her know we’re about to ask for more than a day or two to get acclimated to having you back.” Peter puts his own hands at Tony’s belt, just resting them on the expensive leather, much like Tony’s doing with him. “Want to go on three?” he asks quietly, nodding to where they’re both stuck.

“Flowers are definitely something I need to butter her up with. You know what’s funny? She didn’t even blink too much when I aged myself down. I was just… Tony. She’s one tough cookie,” Tony babbles a bit more, then looks down to their hands on each other’s belts. “Yeah, I was just about to tell you I don’t need a count for this, but I think I need a count for this.”

 

Peter puts the babbling about Pepper out of his mind, because it’ll drive him crazy, if he lets it. Besides, he feels like Tony’s babbling to cover up nerves, not to rhapsodize about his ex. “One...” He looks into Tony’s eyes, just holding the man’s gaze as he continues to count “Two... Three...” Without breaking the eye contact, he begins to work Tony’s belt open, sliding the leather through the buckle, and letting it hang open when he’s done.

 

Quick, efficient movements that are more muscle memory than anything that really takes thought has Tony opening Peter’s belt at the same time, the eye contact helping to calm him to silence. Then other things kick into gear in his head, like how he needs to kiss his husband, so he does, leaning in and tipping his head slightly as his lips brush the other man’s. He works to coax those lips to part, and as he does, fingers move on to unbuttoning and unzipping Peter’s trousers.

 

A pleased sigh is fed into Tony’s mouth as Peter opens his, so that their tongues can twine together. He keeps pace with the other man, opening his button and zip, then letting the material fall to the ground around his ankles. He wants to touch, but he doesn’t want to spook Tony, so he just enjoys the kiss, letting it progress at the speed Tony likes best.

 

The kiss is broken, so Tony can move down, and collect Peter’s trousers after helping him out of his socks and shoes. Then he holds them, folded over an arm, and waits for Peter to help him out of his garments in return. He steps this way and that while Peter helps him, and gives him a smile when the other man straightens, holding his trousers in a similar manner. Tony goes to get hangers, passing Peter one, then hanging Peter’s pants while Peter hangs his.

 

That just leaves them in their underwear, which usually come off with the pants, and-

 

“You’re wearing boxers,” Tony points out, a little dumbfounded.

 

“Technically, I’m wearing  _ your _ boxers,” Peter admits sheepishly, rubbing at his face a little. “Consider it  _ my  _ version of the stolen hoodie. Only, you know, less cool.”

 

Tony puts his hands on Peter’s hips, and plucks at the boxers a little, just staring. Staring, and then smiling, and lifting dark eyes to Peter’s. “That feels good.”

 

“Really, Mr. Stark?” There’s relief in the words, because that could have gone either way. He isn’t even saying ‘Mr. Stark’ to elicit a response. He tends to default to that, when he feels particularly young or foolish, and in this moment, he feels a little bit of both.

 

“Yeah. I like that you stole my boxers. Did you notice my super secret pair of Spider Man boxers stashed in the back of the drawer yet?” Tony is still grinning.

 

“Yeah,” Peter laughs, thinking back to the shock he’d been in when he found them. “They’re with my Spider Man g-string,” he tells him, laughing again. “They look cute together. Like serious Spider Man and sexy Spider Man are just hanging out.”

 

“Perfect,” Tony murmurs, before biting at his own lip thoughtfully. “Hey.” Oh great, he’s nervous again. Babbling incoming. “So I was thinking. Maybe we could leave our boxers on. Just for a bit. And see how that goes. While we look at places to go for our honeymoon.” Because that makes sense. You’re married to this man and you’re about to go on a honeymoon but let’s not get naked together? He’s just raw feeling.

 

“Good idea,” Peter says seriously, glad he hadn’t given in to his desire to touch his husband while he was taking off his pants. “It’s kind of cold in here. Drafty, you know? I’d get it looked at, but I probably won’t be keeping the place long enough for it to matter, right?”

 

“There’s that. And. I’m feeling shy. You should probably be feeling shy instead, but I’ve stolen it and it’s my thing now,” Tony says seriously, before grabbing his phone from their piles of things from their pants they put on the nightstand. He jumps into bed, and flops down on his stomach, pulling up a pillow and going about looking on his phone. “I like Alaska better than British Columbia.”

 

“Alaska it is,” Peter says, climbing into the bed and sitting with his back against the headboard, watching Tony look for a place to stay. It’s a nice view, and one he just takes in with big, dark eyes while the other man gets to work on that search. “I’d like to request the cabin have a hot tub,” Peter says, when Tony starts talking about amenities.

 

“Fuck yeah, I love hot tubs,” Tony murmurs, his knees bending, feet swaying gently back and forth as he narrows down his search. “Do you care about WiFi? I care. I’m going to be honest. The thought of no WiFi scares me a bit.”

 

“We definitely need WiFi,” Peter says solemnly. “And an entertainment center, so we can watch movies together,” he adds to the list, hoping that hearing about things they could do that involve clothes will help the other man from getting nervous. Or more raw.

 

“Check and check. Do you think there will be any wildlife around? Maybe not, with all the snow. Maybe our next vacation, we could go someplace where it’s not too hot or cold, and feed squirrels and birds while we eat our breakfast outside. Like, go somewhere in a RV,” Tony murmurs, gaze getting a little distant. He hasn’t done anything like that since he was a kid.

 

“Aunt May used to talk about renting an RV one summer and driving around out west. Yellowstone, The Grand Canyon, all of it. We could do that, sometime,” he says, thinking about how the vacation that never quite panned out for him and May could be something for him and Tony to look forward to. “Do you know how to drive a RV, or would we have to bring Happy with us?” he teases softly, figuring if Tony can handle the Iron Man suit, he can manage a RV.

 

“Maybe I’ll build a self-driving RV to go with our self-flying personal jet. But. Yeah. I could drive a RV,” Tony says, smiling up at Peter. “Should we wait for Pepper to say she’s definitely going to help us with the whole company running thing, or just book a place now?”

 

“I say we act like we’ve already won and just book it. Worst case scenario, we lose out on a booking fee and part of a deposit,” Peter rationalizes, catching one of Tony’s feet and bringing it closer to rub at the sole.

 

“Done,” Tony tells him, booking the trip. “We leave tomorrow. Check-in is at 4pm. Also, that feels good,” he sighs out, putting his phone away onto the nightstand. His toes flex, and then he looks up at Peter again. “Are you feeling benevolent and rubbing my feet for purely altruistic reasons, or do you secretly like feet?”

 

“I like  _ your _ feet, but no. I’m just feeling like being good to you right now. You want your other foot rubbed, so they’re even?” Peter says mildly, feeling a little bit like he just got called out for being a creeper. Even if he wasn’t really creeping. Rubbing Tony’s feet was literally the most innocent way of touching the other man he could think of, and he feels like he’s dying without the feel of the other man’s skin. 

 

“Yeah. It feels really good,” Tony says, offering Peter his other foot next. His arms fold over the pillow, and he stares up at his husband, wiggling his toes at him.

 

Peter grabs his other foot with a grin, glad he gets to rub it for him, and starts to massage the sole of that foot, just like he had the first. After a few minutes, he can’t really justify still rubbing, so he lets the foot go and folds his hands over his stomach.

 

“Thank you,” Tony sighs out, having closed his eyes at some point. He scoots over a little, leans in, opens his mouth wide, and very gently rests his teeth against Peter’s thigh, over the boxers, in a would-be bite, if he put any pressure to it. Big, dark eyes stare up at the man, and he goes, “Nom,” in a muffled voice.

 

“Nom?” Peter asks in a questioning tone, like they’re just having a conversation in some made up language. His hand goes into the other man’s hair to smooth the strands as he gives an adoring look down at his husband.

 

Tony lifts his head, and quite seriously says, “I nommed your leg. It is nommed.” He leans into the hair stroking, and turns his head to kiss Peter’s palm. Then he gives Peter a wide eyed look, opens his mouth again, and gently closes his teeth around the side of Peter’s wrist. “Nom.”

 

“I love you so fucking much,” Peter breathes out, his chest feeling like it might actually burst with the emotion. It’s staggering, after not feeling anything at all for so long. “You’ve nommed my wrist. It is nommed,” he says softly, bending to press a kiss to Tony’s temple.

 

The wrist is released from the nom, and Tony murmurs, “I love you, too, so fucking much.” He’s pretty pleased by the acknowledgment that Peter’s wrist has been nommed, too. Suddenly, he sits up on his knees, using this younger body of his to its full capacity of movement. He shifts until he’s straddling Peter’s lap, settling in, getting nice and comfortable. “You were too far away. This is better.”

 

“This  _ is _ better,” Peter says, willing his cock not to get hard beneath Tony. He gathers the other man up into his arms, carefully pulling him in for a hug, just breathing in the scent of him. It’s like a healing balm against Peter’s soul, and he smiles again, because he can just hold this man forever now. Hold him until he has to let him up for air, at least, and hold him some more, after that. “I’m never letting you go, Tony Stark. You’re just going to have to get used to living in my lap forever.”

 

“Nom,” Tony replies, having latched on to Peter’s shoulder in that light hold with his teeth. He wraps strong arms around his husband in return, then does little doodles against his back with a fingertip, eyes shutting contently as, this time, he begins to suck at the man’s skin.

 

_ No, really, Peter. Don’t get hard _ , he tells himself when Tony starts to suck at his shoulder. He raises a hand to cup the back of the man’s head and rasps out, “That feels nice,” while he strokes. Tony seems to be feeling small right now, and he’s not going to fuck that up for the other man. Instead of thinking about just how good those sucks feel against his skin, Peter decides to pour all his attention into those doodles that Tony’s tracing against his back, trying to decipher them and figure out what each one may be.

 

At first, it’s a bunch of hearts. Just heart after heart, until Tony is satisfied he’s done that enough, and switches to making what might be a giant rainbow, from the feel of it. Between each drawing, he scrubs at the man’s skin with his palm to erase the work he’s done and have a clean slate for the next doodle, lightly bruising Peter’s shoulder as he keeps sucking at it. Eventually, he’s quite sated with his drawings and sucking, and releases Peter’s skin, eyes heavy as he leans his head back slowly to catch his husband’s gaze. “Hey,” he says thickly, then clears his throat. “I feel really good right now.”

 

“I do, too, Tony.” Peter lifts a hand to cradle Tony’s jaw, holding him steady while he looks into the other man’s eyes. After a long moment, he leans in to kiss his forehead, letting his lips linger there against the skin. Then, with his heart in his throat, he presses his lips softly against his husband’s, letting them linger for just a moment before he leans back to look into his eyes again.

 

Arms move up to wrap around Peter’s shoulders, and Tony leans in again, brushing his lips slowly along his husband’s. He rocks his hips forward gently, and nips at Peter’s lower lip, before letting out a soft pant against his lips. Blood starts to rush to his cock, a hand going up into Peter’s hair and gripping as his mouth stays close to the other man’s.

 

Peter makes a strangled-sounding noise of need when Tony rocks his hips against him, like he’s trying to keep it inside, but he just can’t do it. He pants out softly, sharing that air with Tony, his hands smoothing down his back to rest lightly on his hips. He can be strong. He doesn’t want to push his husband too far. He keeps telling himself that, but blood starts to fill his cock anyway, and his eyes roll closed as he surrenders to the impossibility of resisting.

 

A very soft kiss is pressed to Peter’s lips, Tony liking the sound his husband made. Feeling him start to get hard only excites Tony further, lips sealing to lips for a kiss, hips rocking more insistently. He just feels so good right now, and he didn’t realize he would this soon. It started with feeling calm. Then comfortable. Then, after feeling safe kicked in, it just threw the door wide open for his libido to come thundering through.

 

When Tony seals his lips to Peter’s, Peter feeds him his tongue slowly, then lets it retreat, so the other man can taste his mouth at his leisure. He groans out, the sound filling Tony’s mouth, and his hands tighten on his hips, squeezing as he gently raises his hips to drag his cock against Tony’s core. “You taste so damn  _ good _ , Tony Stark,” he rumbles out.

 

“So do you,” Tony breathes out across Peter’s lips, a shudder of pleasure filling him as that erection is dragged against his core. He wets his lips for another taste of his husband, then speaks quietly, “I know you’re probably tired of being in charge, having been in charge for weeks, and I’ll switch gears it you need me to, but this feels good.” His head bows to taste the side of Peter’s neck while he lets his husband think about that.

 

Peter needs everything, all at the same time. But, right now, Tony needs him to step up, and Peter’s happy to do that. They have time for other stuff. He rolls them slowly, so that Tony’s against the mattress, with Peter above and to the side of him, kissing him deeply, feeding him his tongue over and over again. His hand slides from his hip, up his side in a hard press, then back down, altering course to grip Tony’s cock through his boxers, his own hips arching to drag his cock against Tony’s leg, through his underwear.

 

A lightly calloused hand slides down Peter’s stomach as Tony sucks on the tongue he’s fed, until that hand is tucking into his husband’s boxers and wrapping around his cock. Nerves threaten to take over again, and Tony really doesn’t know what they’re coming from, because he’s not the one that just went six weeks without his husband. Nope, as far as his memory goes, he was just with him last night, and smiled at his sleeping form this morning on his way out to see Strange.

 

Strange.

 

A guilty mewling sound is fed into Peter’s mouth, and Tony retracts his hand from Peter’s boxers, curling his hand up against his own chest. Here he is, happy and safe and in bed with his husband, while Strange, that motherfucker, is kneeling in the room they left him in, collecting dust.

 

Peter feels the change come over Tony, can tell by the way his hand pulls back that it’s not a happy sound he just swallowed. Hs heart drops into his feet, because he went and pushed too hard. He stops moving, stops kissing, stops everything, except holding the other man. “It’s okay, Tony. We don’t have to do anything. We can just lay here and talk. Or sleep. Whatever you need.” Stupid, fucking Peter.

 

“Can we go see Strange?” Tony asks in a small voice. “Maybe bring him a blanket? I didn’t even leave the light on for him. He’s just sitting there alone, in the dark, and it’s all my fault,” Tony whispers brokenly.

 

“Yeah, Tony. We can do that,” Peter says quietly, not moving to stand just yet. Instead, he holds Tony tight and strokes his hair, smoothing through the strands. He doesn’t want to see his best friend like this, but if it’s what Tony needs, then it’s what they’ll do.

 

Peter would do anything for Tony.

 

Maybe this is all so very hard for Tony because he didn’t get six weeks to process anything. He went from having a great life where his biggest worry was if he could convince Strange not to be a dick to his husband anymore and come around more often, to waking up to a frozen Strange and a scarred husband a split second later. The more Tony thinks about it, the sicker he starts to feel again. Like he can’t trust anything anymore, because weeks or even years of time might pass for his husband that he just completely misses out on.

 

So Tony lies there, being held, and works on breathing normally, but it comes in gasps and short pants, his face getting pale, then taking on a slightly green pallor. “I’m sorry. We were having a great time and I messed up,” he chokes out.

 

“I’m the one who messed up by pushing,” Peter says quietly, worried about this panic attack Tony seems to be having. “You’re okay, Tony. This will pass, and you’ll be okay,” he tries to comfort him, still holding him in strong arms.

 

“You pushed? I crawled into your lap and started grinding. I would have been insulted if you just sat there bored,” Tony fires back between pants. “You were great. I was feeling good, and you were great, and then I just lost it.” He scrubs a hand up at his face at the tears that he’s just now noticing are falling. “I’m not going to throw up. I’m not throwing up that bite of cherry pie. Or the Thai food. Because it was delicious.”

 

Peter doesn’t quite remember things that way. He remembers  _ knowing _ it was a bad idea to get hard and move forward, then doing it anyway. But, he’s not going to argue with Tony, because who pushed who isn’t really something to argue over. He’s more worried about his husband being sick, at this point. “Do you want some water? It might help,” he asks quietly, because that’s all he has to offer. Fucking  _ water _ .

 

"No, I just need to see him," Tony says miserably. "Do you have a blanket we could give him? If not, maybe we could go get one from the Tower? I'm sorry I'm not being myself right now. My head is so  _ fucked _ ." Tony makes a frustrated noise, because right now? He knows he sounds like a little whining bitch.

 

"You just went through something really traumatic, Tony. However you feel is okay," Peter soothes him, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before he stands up and goes to the hall closet, coming back with a warm-looking down comforter. "Do you think he'd like this one?" he asks Tony, showing off the deep red color.

 

"Yeah," Tony mumbles, rubbing at his eyes with a hand. "That's a good color on him. I'm really sorry I was so mean to him. You think he knows that?" He woodenly gets out of bed, and starts going through Peter's clothes, looking for a hoodie.

 

"I think he enjoyed it, in a weird way," Peter says, pulling down a pair of jeans and climbing into them. "Just like he enjoyed needling you. You're remarkably similar men," he says, just making small talk, while they dress. The hoodies are at the back of the closet, and Peter grabs a couple of them, holding one up in each hand. "Red or blue?" he asks, offering Tony first pick.

 

"Red," Tony says perhaps predictably, taking the hoodie and pulling it on. Now he's got on jeans, a hoodie, and all he needs are shoes. "Do you have any flip-flops?"

 

"Yeah. With my beach clothes," Peter points them out and grabs a pair of sneakers for himself. "Your feet are gonna get cold in those. It's three weeks until Christmas," he reminds the other man as he slides his sneaks on and ties them up. He hasn't worn clothes like this since Tony was gone, and it makes him feel kind of young. Almost innocent, really.

 

"I'll be okay," Tony says stubbornly, sliding on the flip-flops. He pulls the hoodie over his head and hides via bowing his head, grabbing the big red blanket for Strange and clinging to it.

 

Peter uses an app to call for a rideshare, then ushers Tony and the blanket down to the curb to wait for their ride. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps an arm around his husband so he can feel his warmth against his side.

 

Then, he’s opening the door and ushering the Tony out of the cold and into the big house. Up the stairs they go, and it’s all Peter can do not to beg Tony to keep his hands in his pockets, but Tony doesn’t need to feel worse than he already does. They find the guest room that they left Strange in, and Peter reaches inside to flip on the light, illuminating the sorcerer at rest.

Tony doesn’t touch anything. He just clings to the big red blanket, and is ushered along, like some overgrown child. When the room is brought into the light, he stares at Strange there, in his regular day to day clothes, expect the relic cape is now resting gently on his shoulders.

 

“Hey, that magic carpet thing found Strange,” Tony says softly, to which the cape rustles in irritation, for it is  _ not _ a magic carpet thing. Tony steps forward, and offers up the blanket. The cape settles in deeper on Strange’s shoulders, but doesn’t seem to mind the offer of extra warmth, so Tony gently drapes the blanket around Strange and his magical cape. Then he has a seat across from Strange, his back against the bed, and stares solemnly into closed eyes.

 

Peter settles on the floor next to Tony, letting his head tip back against the mattress, eyes closed so he doesn’t have to see his best friend. He silently offers his hand to his husband, palm up, letting it rest on his knee, so there’s no pressure for him to take it.

 

“We should tell Wong what happened. Unless he already told Wong? I mean, I don’t really know what’s going on here,” Tony says softly, the silence of the room hard to speak in. He takes that offered hand, and squeezes it, still staring at Strange.

 

“You’re right,” Peter realizes softly, squeezing Tony’s hand back. “Everything happened so quickly. He didn’t tell  _ anybody _ what he was doing. Maybe I should go look for him.” He’s not really thrilled at the prospect of leaving his husband alone right now, but maybe some alone time with Stephen is what Tony needs right now.

 

“Maybe you’re right,” Tony says softly, still just staring at Strange. “It would suck for him to come home and find his friend like this, with no one telling him anything, right?” Tony slowly looks over at Peter, and nuzzles his cheek.

 

“Yeah, that would be bad,” Peter says, soaking up that nuzzle, then turning his head to return it. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Rising, he gives a last squeeze to his husband’s hand before he goes off in search of Wong, or at least a way to contact him.

 

“Wait!” Tony calls out about when Peter gets to the doorway. He bounds up onto his feet, and rushes over. “When I was looking for Strange, I got lost in this place. There’s some kind of magical labrarith that activates if you go in the wrong place. Maybe wandering around isn’t such a good idea after all.” He takes Peter’s hand, and laces their fingers. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you,” he says quietly.

 

“Nothing bad will happen, Tony,” Peter soothes the man, pulling him close to hug him. “I’ll just go to the kitchen and leave a note to call. He’ll find it soon enough, and I can talk to him about what happened.”

 

“Okay, but I’m going with you,” Tony mutters, hugging Peter back. He keeps their hands linked, and looks over his shoulder at Strange with his giant blanket and cloak. “I’m glad he’s not alone, now. Sure, the cloak is a little creepy, but it’s his friend.” So this time, when Tony turns out the light to the room and heads out with Peter, he feels okay about things.

 

“Me, too, Tony,” Peter says, leading the way through the house, the way they came, to the kitchen. He scribbles a note for Wong to call him, as soon as he can, along with his number. Then, he’s looking back to Tony, “You ready to go back to my place?” He can’t call the place home. Not when they’ll be moving back into the penthouse soon enough.

 

“Yeah,” Tony says, frowning a little. He doesn’t like that Peter has his own place. Having a personal lair at Strange’s had been bad enough. He gets how it happened and why, but he still doesn’t like it. But he’s not going to complain. He’ll just look like a whining pussy if he does.

 

The rideshare back to Peter’s place is quiet again, this time without the phone calls to anyone, just Peter thumbing out replies to emails. It looks odd, seeing him do important, grown man work in his hoodie and sneakers and jeans. By the time they get back inside the apartment, Tony’s feet are cold, and a little bluish.

 

“Oh my fuck you were right about the flip-flops and the winter and everything,” Tony chatters, leaping into bed and burrowing under the covers, curling so his hands can hold his feet and try to warm them that much faster. “I should listen to you more. I won’t, but I should.”

 

Peter chuckles, and takes off his shoes, so he can climb into bed, fully clothed, with Tony. “A shower might warm you up faster he says, rather than to remark upon what Tony should or will do. “I could wait here and keep the bed warm for you, if you wanted.” No need for Tony to think he’s inviting himself along and panic again.

 

Tony doesn’t wanna go shower, especially not alone. So he turns around in bed and burrows against Peter, shivering a little for a few seconds, until all that good, awesome Peter warmth starts to hit him. Then he lets out a content sound, snuggling even closer. “You’re like my own personal space heater. It’s the spider stuff, isn’t it? Makes you super  _ hot _ .”

 

“Yep,” Peter says easily, smiling down at Tony. “All the best parts of me came from that spider bite. The hotness, the speed, strength, agility, and alcohol resistance. It was a lucky day.” He nuzzles his husband and kisses his forehead.

 

“Not the best parts,” Tony says stubbornly, before giving Peter’s skull a gentle tap. Then, he thinks about it, and gives his groin a gentle tap, too.

 

Peter laughs at that, and slides that fraction of an inch closer that he can get. “You’re being so fucking cute. You’re just asking to be tickled,” he growls out, raising a hand and flexing his fingers to illustrate.

 

“I am,” Tony says solemnly. “However, I know the secret anti-tickling formula that prevents all tickles, and converts them into other… things.” With that, he leans up, and sucks a long middle finger into his mouth with a quiet sound.

 

Peter nearly chokes on his own saliva, when Tony sucks on his middle finger, and his well-ignored cock jumps to attention. “Not fair,” he manages to breath out, fighting to keep from sliding the digit in and out of those beautiful, sensuous lip.

Tony slowly slides his head back, so that finger slips free. He can feel the arousal rolling off of Peter in waves, and he feels it, too. He’s not going to screw it up this time. “I’m okay,” he tries to assure his hesitant husband. “Strange has that cloak friend of his, and a blanket. I’m okay, now,” he whispers, his hand trailing down to Peter’s groin, squeezing it through his jeans.

 

“Are you sure?” he whispers out, cupping Tony’s jaw so that wet finger presses to his cheek. God, he needs this man, but he’s scared. He’s scared, but there’s a hand squeezing at his already hard cock, making it throb.

 

“Yeah,” Tony breathes out, nuzzling into that hand that cups his jaw. “Also, I’m getting really hot. I should get out of this snuggly hoodie, shouldn’t I?” he asks, sitting up on his knees and pulling the covers back with him. That has the covers pooling about at Peter’s knees, with Tony’s hand still on his husband’s cock through the jeans. Big, dark eyes look down to his hand, and he starts jerking the man’s cock slowly through the denim.

 

Peter sits up and pulls his hoodie over his head in one fluid motion, and then he’s wrapping his arms around Tony, pulling him close and turning them both so that his husband’s back is pressed to the mattress with Peter half-covering him. He falls into kissing him, devouring him, really, his hands touching all over, just reminding himself that he can do this now. He’s needy and almost desperate as he just keeps kissing and touching, his hips arching into the hand that strokes him through his jeans.

 

The power of those kisses, that devouring… It feels  _ good _ to Tony. Sharp breaths are inhaled through his nostrils over and over again as they kiss, his hand palming Peter’s erection and rubbing when he’s not actively trying to stroke it through the denim. When the kiss breaks, he pants for air, and hurriedly gets out of his borrowed hoodie, dropping it over the side of the bed. “Oh God, that’s better,” he breathes out, hand automatically going back to Peter’s cock to stroke it through the jeans.

 

Feeling as though he’s gotten just enough of Tony to get him through the next few minutes without a kiss, Peter looks down on his husband and cups his cock through his borrowed jeans, squeezing and rubbing before he slowly opens the button and lowers the zip. “I’m going to enjoy unwrapping you,” he says solemnly, staring down as he reveals first his boxers, then once they’ve been pushed away, his cock.

 

Tony arches his hips up, his cock hard against his abdominals. With his jeans and boxers off, too, now, he’s completely naked, and chewing on a soft lower lip as he stares up at his husband. “I love you, Mr. Stark,” he breathes out, reaching to trace Peter’s chest, and down to his cock giving it another squeeze through his jeans. “I can’t wait to have you inside me again,” is said softly.

 

Peter drops his head to Tony’s chest and groans miserably, the words reminding him of something he doesn’t have. “Lube. I don’t own any,” he says hoarsely. “I didn’t think I’d be needing it this side of ever.” Fuck. His cock feels like it’s going to explode, he’s so ready to be buried inside Tony. And more than than, he’s dying to feel that connection again. “I’m sorry.”

 

That has Tony falling into silence, a hand carding through Peter’s hair slowly as he stares up at the ceiling. “When I… Stopped moving… Was in stasis,” he tries to articulate after a few seconds. “You stopped, too. Except for whatever part of you rose to the occasion to be the man that runs Stark Industries. That part didn’t stop. But everything else did, huh?”

 

“Yeah, Tony,” he says heavily, lowering his body to the bed, so that his head rests on his husband’s chest. “I didn’t need any other parts. I just needed to make things as good for you as I could, so you’d have something to wake up to.”

 

“Peter, I’m going to say something, and I need you to hear me with an open mind, because I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, or even in the next hour, or the next minute. Life has taught me that I can’t take anything for granted, especially not that time I’m given with you,” Tony says in a voice that sounds stronger than it has since he’s come back. It sounds more like him. More… Tony Stark.

 

“I’m listening,” Peter says, tensing for his words, feeling like they might be something he’s not going to like hearing.

 

“If something happens to me again, or if you get whisked off through time, or what the fuck ever happens to us next? You do whatever it takes to be happy. Not just… Worry about whatever it means for me to be happy. You be happy. That’s important to me. I mean…” Tony sighs out. “You could have had  _ so much fun _ in Mexico, and you didn’t. I’m not saying you have to force yourself to have fun, but maybe if you fake it a little, you might have fun on accident. And you had someone that loved you. Really loved you. I mean, I knew after Mexico that when you set your mind to  _ not _ do something, you’re not doing it, and that’s great. Except this time, when I came back to you…” Tony doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s trying to make sense, and it’s not working. “You did the best you could. I get that. I just wish some of that best you could do could have been devoted to your own happiness, too, and not just mine.”

 

“So, basically, I should have slept with Stephen and had a party,” Peter grits out, the muscles of his back so tense they feel like they could snap. “How long should I have waited? A week? A month? Should I have just jumped him when you were cold?” Tears prick the backs of his eyes, and he sits up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, so he can scrub at his face with both hands.

 

“If jumping Strange’s bones the moment I was cold meant you would have been happy and whole when I came back to you, then, yeah. I’d tell him this, too, if I could, because I’m sick and tired of being the excuse he used to not make you as happy as you could have been,” Tony mutters, pulling up the covers to hide part way under them.

 

All Peter hears out of that is that Tony came back to something... less than he left. Peter’s not good enough, anymore. It’s like this worst nightmares during Mexico came back and decided to be real. “Next time, I’ll forget the vows I took and just jump on the first suitable partner I can find. Maybe MJ’ll take me back, or something,” he says heavily, rising from the bed and sliding his hoodie on. “Then again, I wasn’t enough for her, either.”

 

“Oh no, you don’t get to get dressed and make a dramatic exit,” Tony snarls, throwing back the covers and heading for the closet. It’s totally going to take him forever to get dressed back in his suit, and Peter will probably have made at least three dramatic exits by then. God  _ damn _ it. He tosses the suit with the hangers onto the bed, and goes hunting around for his tie and boxers and shirt that he remembers going into the hamper.

 

“Well, you don’t get to put on your suit and storm out,” Peter roars, taking up the suit and hangers and throwing them across the room to land in a heap in the corner. “And you sure as hell don’t get to tell me I’m a lesser man for honoring my vows, Tony Stark. I said, ‘Til death do us part,’ and you weren’t dead.”

 

The roaring and clothes throwing has Tony pausing as he digs his shirt out of the hamper. He straightens, drops the shirt, and frowns. “I said you weren’t happy. I didn’t say you were less of a man.”

 

“You said I wasn’t whole. And, maybe I wasn’t, but that’s because the better part of me was gone, Tony.” Peter’s voice breaks, and he sits heavily on the bed, tears starting to come from some place deep inside him. “I wasn’t worried about being  _ happy _ . I was just trying to survive, a minute at a time.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Tony says softly, padding over to the bed where Peter is sitting. He stands before his husband, watching him cry, and fights back his own urge to give into tears. “I just want good things for you, is what I was trying to say.” He starts to add to that, but stops himself, looking down and folding his hands.

 

Peter leans forward, so that his forehead presses to Tony’s chest, just below the arc reactor. He sniffles loudly, trying to get it together, trying to stop with the pathetic tears. “I’ll try to be happy,” he chokes out. “Whatever happens.”

 

Careful hands card through Peter’s hair, and Tony stands there listening to the sniffling, and the tears. He did this. He basically kicked a man while he was already down. And for what? Because they didn’t have lube? They were certainly having a nice time up until that point, anyway. He swallows hard, and tucks fingers under Peter’s chin, tipping his head back so Tony can see his face. “You wanna get out of those clothes and snuggle with me? Maybe get some sleep?”

 

“That sounds good,” Peter says, brokenly, his eyes unfocused as Tony tips his chin back. He stands, moving around Tony to do it, and makes his way to the lightswitch first. “You ready for me to turn off the light?” he asks quietly, figuring on sliding out of his clothes on his way back to the bed.

 

“Yeah,” Tony says quietly, climbing back into bed and getting under the covers. He watches as Peter flips off the light, and wanders back, dropping clothes along the way. With the soft glow of the arc reactor that he almost never takes off, he can start to see the interior of the room, even without the light. It’s not their room in the penthouse, but it’s nice in here. At least Peter had made the effort to live in beauty, even if he didn’t feel much of anything.

 

Sliding into bed, Peter hesitates, not sure if he should slide an arm around his husband, or let the other man come to him, instead. He hesitates long enough, that he’s frozen, half in, half out of the bed, until he finally decides just to drop in on his back with the crook of an elbow covering his eyes.

 

It’s good Tony sees that hesitation, so he better understands why his husband doesn’t hold him. And, well, Tony’s been a dick, as usual. That means he has to work a little harder to make up for being himself. So he shifts closer, so his chest lines up with Peter’s side, and drapes an arm over him, pressing a kiss to his temple.

 

Peter wraps an arm around his husband and pulls him close, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really trust his voice not to break and start him crying again. So, just stays silent, eyes covered, arm around Tony, and counts his breaths, one after the next.

 

“Tomorrow is going to be a better day. We’ll talk to Pepper, and go off on our honeymoon. And I’ll try really hard not to be a total fucking douchebag,” Tony says quietly, eyes shut. One would think he wouldn’t be so tired, having basically slept for six weeks, but stasis isn’t quite the same as sleeping. It’s having every cell in your body shut down, then allowed to come back to life, and it’s not the most fun thing in the world. He feels like an old computer, trying to boot up slowly, with a bunch of programs that- Nevermind. The point is, he’s exhausted. “We’ll get Pepper flowers. I’ll get you flowers, too. Nicer ones than Pepper’s. With good stabilizers.”

 

Peter chuckles softly at that and moves his arm from over his face, so he can roll toward his husband and kiss his temple. “I love you, Tony,” he says, smiling at the other man as he dozes off. Another dozen or so breaths, and Peter’s right behind him, and the pair finally have peace as they rest.

 


	14. Chapter 14

The next morning, Tony wakes and slowly opens his eyes, feeling Peter still breathing deeply against him. The young man used to toss and turn a lot in bed, but now, or at least last night, he hardly moved. Maybe that means he’s not having so many bad dreams? One can only hope.

Slowly, Tony lifts himself up, and leans over his husband, peering down at him. Then he settles onto an elbow, half over his chest, fingers carding through the man’s hair gently. He studies Peter with a soft gaze, waiting for him to wake up.

Tony’s movement starts Peter on a slow path to waking, his arm tightening around his husband’s hips as his eyes flutter beneath their lids. He gives a little hum and starts to speak in a thick voice. “I was having the strangest dream... You were gone, but then you came back. I’m glad you came back,” he murmurs, his head moving to burrow into the pillow a little more deeply.

"I'm glad I did too, Peter," Tony rumbles, kissing his husband softly. "You're so sweet, and sleepy," he continues, pressing kiss after soft kiss over his face. "If we had lube? I'd wake you up with really slow thrusts, just burying myself deep inside you."

“There’s conditioner in the bathroom,” Peter mumbles out, not really sure where the idea came from, since it hadn’t come to him the night before. It’s not as good as lube, but it does have the benefit of being on hand, and his growing erection is making it harder to think about anything except having Tony thrust into him.

Tony mock gasps. “Conditioner? That’s a terrible idea. Unless we’re in the shower. Then it sounds perfectly reasonable and really quite hygienic to me,” he rumbles, pressing another kiss to mumbling lips. “Think you can wake up enough to get to the shower? You’re so sleepy…” Tony really likes sleepy Peter. Sleepy Peter is one of the best versions of Peter.

“Yeah, just give me a sec,” Peter rumbles out, his pulse quickening. He needs Tony so damn badly, and maybe this time they’ll make it work. He turns his head to catch Tony’s lips, then opens his eyes fully as they part. “There. Now, I’m awake enough for the shower.”

“Good morning,” Tony whispers, smiling at Peter as he opens his eyes. He slides out of bed and comes around to Peter’s side, then bends to kiss him again. “You sure you’re awake? Because I could just molest you more, if you need that.” Another kiss, this one coaxing lips to part for a deeper taste.

Oh, he’s definitely awake, after the shot of adrenaline that comes from having his mouth opened to take Tony’s tongue into it. He moans eagerly into the other man’s mouth, his hand going to cup his husband’s cock, stroking it softly. “I’m awake, but I could pretend to snore, if you have molesting needs...”

Tony’s cock was already on its way to getting hard, and that softly stroking hand helps to finish the job. “You don’t snore. You’d have to just breathe deep and occasionally flip yourself across the bed,” Tony murmurs, grinning. “Unless of course you stopped doing that part. Maybe sleeping on a couch for six weeks taught you that flipping around throws you off the thing you’re sleeping on?” He straightens, and slides his hand down Peter’s torso, then over to his other hand, taking it to help pull him to sitting up and out of the bed when he’s ready to stand.

“I think it must’ve. I always wake up in the same position I went to sleep in, these days,” Peter says, pulling on Tony’s hand to stand up. It’s not really necessary, but he likes how close it puts him to the other man, once he’s on his feet. Their chests are touching and it’s easy to grab a kiss.

Which Tony does, kissing his husband softly. Then he lifts their joined hands to brush another kiss to his knuckles, before he turns and is tugging him along toward the bathroom for that shower. “We have a busy day today. We have to convince slash guilt Pepper into running the company for a week, then we have to leave for Alaska, to get there in time for check in at 4 pm. But, before all that, we’re going to make love in the shower, and it’s going to be awesome.” He goes about turning on the shower, then turns back to Peter, seeking a deep kiss.

Peter gives him that deep kiss, a deep groan fed into his mouth along with it. Strong arms wrap around Tony, pulling him close, so that he can feel the other man’s erection against his abdominals. His own cock is hard and pressed to Tony’s and it feels good to have him so close. “I like that our day gets to start with making love in the shower,” he murmurs, when the kiss finally breaks, pressing one more quick kiss to Tony’s lips before he climbs into the shower.

It’s not the luxury of the penthouse shower; there’s no bench, but the water does fall from the ceiling and that’s where Peter stands, letting it slide down his body for Tony to see. Once he’s wet all over, he opens his eyes and steps out from under the water, making room for the other man to step closer.

Tony stares as he steps into the shower, taking in the beauty that is his husband as the water slides down his body. That’s right about when a realization hits him. If Peter had jumped Strange’s bones while Tony was in stasis, would they even be having this shower right now? Assuming Strange still took his place in the end, what would have happened to Peter, to have that connection with someone, and then lose them, too? Or, if Strange had found another way to get Tony out, what was supposed to happen after that? Was Peter just supposed to drop Strange and go back to Tony?

“I think you’re so much more than I deserve,” Tony finds himself saying hoarsely, stepping closer, gentle hands sliding along Peter’s body. Sure, Tony has a big enough ego that he doesn’t really consider anyone a threat to his relationship with Peter, but what if they could be, because Tony opened his big, stupid mouth, and told Peter to go be happy?

“I think you overestimate me,” Peter tells him back, his voice filled with emotion. “Because every day I see you, I see that I’m lucky to be where I am. You’re Tony Stark. I’m only the man who gets to be loved by him.”

“Oh, I estimate you just fine,” Tony tells him firmly. “But you are right about how you’re the only man that gets to be loved by me.” Wait, he hears a loophole in that. “The only person that gets to be loved by me, in fact. I don’t love anyone like I love you, Peter Stark.” He leans in and coaxes a kiss from the man, hands sliding up and down his back as he holds him.

Peter likes how Tony twisted his words to make them nicer. He smiles against his husband’s lips as Tony coaxes that kiss from him, letting it stay slow, rather than pushing it into the hard kiss his blood aches for. No, there’s something sweet about this kiss, and it soothes him, makes him feel bigger and stronger than he might otherwise. He presses a palm to Tony’s chest, fingers curling to press into the muscle of the pectoral he cups. 

Tony’s hand shifts to cover the one on his chest, breaking the kiss with a gentle pant against Peter’s lips. He slides his tongue over his own lips after, just for another taste of his husband, and murmurs softly, eyes opening, “If you’re going to grab my tit, you’ve got to compliment it, too.” Smirks.

“Shut up. I’m having a moment,” Peter mumbles without opening his eyes or looking up into that smirk that he knows Tony is wearing.

So Tony shuts up, smiling softly as he leans in to gently touch his forehead to the other man’s. Fingers caress the back of Peter’s hand on his chest, and his other hand comes to rest on his husband’s hip. That hip is squeezed, his thumb smoothing slow circles against the jut of the hip bone.

“Better,” Peter teases, opening his eyes to take in Tony’s soft smile. He slides his nose down the other man’s and kisses him again, his hand sliding down his side to his hip, then cupping his cock, wrapping his fingers around its length and stroking him slowly, his own cock hard, just with the idea of making love with this man.

A panted breath is exhaled when Peter starts stroking Tony’s erection again, his mouth still close to his husband’s from the last kiss they shared. Then he’s kissing Peter again, this time hard, a hand coming up into his hair to grip the strands and pull as he pins his husband’s body to the shower wall. “I missed you,” he growls out, even if the six weeks for him was only a split second. Just knowing he was separated from the other man drives him crazy, and has him striving to make it better, to make it right.

So Tony grabs the conditioner, and smears it on his cock around Peter’s stroking fingers, giving him a quick, hard kiss to go with all the other kisses, and jerking one of his husband’s legs up to better present him to take his cock. He lines it up with Peter’s entrance, then slowly sinks the head of his cock inside his husband, informing him quietly as he does, “You’re not allowed to go six weeks without me. I’ve just decided to make that a rule.”

Peter’s eyes squeeze shut, an expression of bliss on his face as Tony starts to slide into him. It feels like coming home, having his husband inside him, and he draws a shuddering breath before he opens his eyes for Tony’s decree. “Oh, thank god,” he breathes out, pressing in for a hungry kiss, that leaves him opening his mouth for Tony’s tongue. He grips Tony’s shoulders tightly enough to balance himself, then wraps his other leg around his waist, so he’s clinging to the man as he’s penetrated, his breath coming in short shallow pants through his nostrils.

When Peter shifts to clinging to Tony, it makes Tony’s cock just bury that much deeper into his husband. His erection throbs in the tight confines of Peter’s ass, and Tony rocks his hips, sliding the rest of the way home. It’s all done while Tony kisses his husband, tongue thrusting over and over into that sweet mouth as deep breaths are taken in through flared nostrils. When he breaks the kiss, he rumbles, “I love you and you’re mine and this bullshit with the time stuff is over.” A soft kiss is pressed to Peter’s lips, then he breathes out against that soft mouth, “You got that, kid?”

“I got it, Mr. Stark,” Peter breathes out, feeling relief, deep in his chest. Something about the way Tony growls out the words like an oath feel right, feels true, and he can believe that time won’t separate them again. He inhales Tony’s exhaled breaths, sharing his air as he begins to pant around the rolling of Tony’s hips. “God, I needed you, Tony. I need you. Every minute.” Peter babbles a little, because everything feels so damn good, his cock throbbing between them.

 

“You have me,” Tony tells him firmly, swearing it. With a hand cupping Peter’s ass, the other goes to jerk the man’s cock between them, stroking it in time with the rolling of his hips. “Every minute. Every day. For the rest of our lives. You have me, Peter Stark.” He kisses him hard again, ravaging Peter’s mouth with his tongue as the thrusts of his hips become more insistent.

The insistent thrusts and the hand stroking his cock just as intently are half of what put Peter on a fast track to coming, but the words, oh, the words... He gasps out against Tony’s mouth before he’s kissed and then he surrenders to the sensations that threaten to overwhelm him. He comes hard, shouting out Tony’s name as he does, and feeling like life can start again.

He feels like a whole man, and he hadn’t even realized how broken he’d become until the moment he started to heal. But, he has Tony back, and nothing is going to separate them again.

Tony stares, taking in the beauty that is his husband. “You’re doing so good. You’re so good to me, Peter Stark,” Tony breathes out against his lips as he coaxes every last drop of cum from his husband’s cock. He squeezes the shaft and just keeps stroking it slowly, even after Peter comes, his hips rocking more and more insistently into Peter’s ass. Then Tony bites down on Peter’s shoulder and sucks hard, a hiss of breath exhaled through his nose as he hits his own orgasm, his seed filling the other man in long, thick ropes.

When he’s spent, he lifts his head in a languid manner, and seeks out Peter’s lips in a slow kiss, eyes shutting, forehead leaning against his after. “I love you,” he says hoarsely.

“I love you, too, Tony,” Peter rumbles out, feeling sated, now that his husband’s cum is buried deep inside him. He strokes his nose down the other man’s while he just enjoys the press of Tony’s forehead against his third eye. “I don’t want to move, but I want to get calling Pepper over and done with, so we can get packed for Alaska,” he murmurs softly, unwrapping a leg from Tony’s waist and lowering it to the ground.

“Good idea,” Tony agrees, gently shifting to slide out of Peter’s ass. Then he’s pulling his husband under the water with him for a quick kiss, and a fast washing for both of them. Seems like they should actually, you know, use soap for getting clean while they happen to be in the shower. Once both of them are squeaky, Tony turns off the water and they get out to dry off.

“HOMER, call Pepper,” Tony calls out, “Use my number.”

“Dialing, sir,” the AI tells them as they dry off, and the sound of the phone ringing can be heard throughout the bathroom.

“Good morning, Tony,” Pepper says, her voice neutral. “You’re slipping at asking for favors. I expected to find flowers or the keys to a new car in my office for covering for you.”

“We both know you buy the best gifts for yourself from me. Pick yourself out something really nice,” Tony says grandly, scrubbing at his hair with the towel. “It could totally be a car, or, you know, whatever. Don’t forget to thank me after for the nice gift.”

“Fine. You’re buying me a new Audi,” she says, resigned. “How long do you need?” There’s no other reason for him to call her and ask for a favor. He and the kid need some time to get their heads straight. She’s expected this since yesterday, and has planned accordingly.

“Two weeks,” Tony says, when they have only booked the cabin for one. They can come back after one and use the other week to get whatever’s going on with the penthouse straightened out so it’s able to be lived in again. “Are you going to get a blue Audi? Blue looks great on you.”

“I’ll take that under consideration,” Pepper smiles across the office at nothing in particular. “I’ll see you in two weeks. And Tony?” she waits for his uttered ‘yes’ before she continues. “Don’t come back early. I’m planning a coup and you’ll ruin it,” she teases him, even though she seriously hopes he takes the full two weeks. Eh, she’ll be happy if he makes it past day ten.

“Thanks, Pep,” Tony tells her, hearing that smile in her voice and finding himself smiling back. “See you later. HOMER, end call.” Tony opens the bathroom door and ventures out into the bedroom, looking back at Peter as he does. “So, I’m totally borrowing more of your clothes. Wanna wear hoodies again? Or, oh! I could wear a hoodie, and you could wear something deliciously expensive and be Mr. Stark.”

“Sounds like a fun role reversal,” Peter says, going to his closet and picking out a t-shirt from some ridiculously obscure rock band, a hoodie, and a pair of jeans, then taking them out to Tony. “Here. Wear this, Tony,” he says, handing out the very cool clothes. “And you know those glasses of yours? The ones you almost never wear? Today’s a good day for them.”

Tony takes the clothes and starts pulling them on after he’s snagged a pair of his boxers. “Yeah? You like my glasses, Mr. Stark?” Tony asks, quickly getting dressed, hopping around as he does so to get into the jeans that are just a tiny bit tight on Tony’s slightly larger frame. He goes to the floor where his suit was thrown the night before, and fishes out the case with his glasses from a pocket, taking them out and putting them on.

Peter lets out a slow breath when he sees Tony in his assembled costume. “I’m coming on those glasses before today is over, Tony,” he says darkly, running a hand through the man’s hair to grip the strands at the back of his head and angle his head just right for a short, hard kiss. Then, he lets go of his hair and strides into his closet, selecting his most expensive business suit and putting it on, along with a crimson silk tie and a watch that’d been a gift from Tony. He’s wearing his own briefs today, because he doesn’t need the comfort of the boxers. Then, once he’s picked a matching pocket square, tucked it into his lapel pocket, and tied on an expensive pair of Italian leather Oxfords, he strides from the closet.

A sharp breath is taken in through Tony’s nostrils at the visual of Peter coming on his glasses, and with that, the man sinks completely into submissive space. So when he’s kissed, he melts against Peter, letting out a sound into his mouth during the brief exchange. Then he stares shyly as Peter gets dressed, watching all that hot assemble onto one very sexy man. When he’s stared his fill, he realizes he still needs shoes and socks, so he pads over to the closet to look for the coolest shoes he can find. He decides on Chucks, mostly because they match the hoodie, and he grabs socks next and pulls them on before putting on the shoes. Once that’s done, he wanders over to Peter, and sinks down on his knees, staring up at the man.

“I just… I need to do this for a second. I need this view right here in particular,” Tony exhales hoarsely.

“You look fantastic on your knees, Tony,” Peter compliments the man, a hand stroking his hair, like he’s a favorite pet. “And when we’re high over the Rockies, headed for Anchorage? I’m going to dismiss the flight staff and you’re going to get on your knees, just like this, and you’re going to suck my cock until I’m pulling out of your mouth to come all over your face. Including those sexy glasses.”

Tony’s breath comes faster the more Peter speaks. While he can’t take one hundred percent credit for the raw natural talent for domination that Peter possesses, he’s taking at least half of it. And Tony really has outdone himself with coaxing Peter into his full potential as a lover. He really has. So dark eyes stare up with a mixture of pride to go along with the hazy arousal, before a slow smile spreads. “You really like my glasses, huh, Mr. Stark?”

“Yes, Tony. I really like those glasses,” Peter growls out. He doesn’t miss the look of pride Tony gives him, and it feels good. It fuels his dominance over the other man and makes him want to be every inch the lover Tony sees in him right now. “Now. Why don’t you crawl to the closet and fetch me our luggage. We have some packing to do.”

Crawl? Fffffttt…!

“Yes, sir,” Tony breathes out, in no mental condition to give any complaint about being told to crawl around. He drops onto his hands and crawls to the closet, venturing inside for the luggage. Once found, he scoots out on his knees, dragging the suitcase. It’s lifted onto the bed, opened, then Tony sits back on his legs, gazing up at Peter with adoring eyes.

“Get up, and help me pick out our clothes for the trip,” Peter intones, opening the suitcase and unbuckling the straps that will keep their clothes flat while they travel. He leads the way into the closet, taking down a couple of suits and holding them up. “Do you like these two, Tony?” he asks his husband, letting him have some say in the clothes he’s going to wear. He doesn’t intend to wear suits for much of the trip, but as much as Tony likes them, he may end up wearing them some, at least.

Tony pops up onto his feet, and walks over into the closet, now making the mental effort to shake off the submissive mindset before it gets annoying. He clears his throat, looking at the two suits, and says quietly, “Yes, Mr. Stark.” Damn, not quite there yet. Well, he’s trying. At least he’s not whining and nuzzling the man’s groin, right? He ventures deeper into the closet, and takes out all remaining hoodies, happily depositing them onto the bed to be folded and added to the suitcase.

Peter chuckles softly when Tony grabs all his hoodies and takes down some t-shirts, some button downs, and some jeans to go with them. He kind of hopes they spend most of their time naked and in each other’s arms, but they’ll want clothes for going outside to play in the snow, or going to dinner. That sort of thing. Clearing his throat, he calls out, “HOMER, have FRIDAY take care of getting some of Mr. Tony Stark’s suits and clothes out of storage and shipped to the rental. Same day, please.” He lowers his voice and turns to Tony. “There. Now, you’ll have some of your things too.”

“HOMER, make sure FRIDAY remembers my Black Sabbath t-shirt,” Tony adds to the order, before leaning in to kiss Peter’s cheek. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.” He goes back to folding clothes and adding them to the suitcase. And by ‘fold,’ he’s really doing it oddly. It’s this method that ends up with each item in a sort of roll, which takes up a lot less space, he’s seemed to have decided, in the end, and keeps things from wrinkling too badly.

Peter chuckles as he watches Tony get their stuff ready, and steps behind the other man, his hands going to his shoulders to rub while he works. He leans close enough that his front brushes the other man’s back and mutters into his ear, “You’re doing a great job, Tony. Keep up the good work.”

Tony lets out a content sigh for the shoulder rubbing, then his eyes roll closed as his ear is muttered into. “Thank you, Mr. Stark,” he breathes out, before willing himself to get back to work, eyes opening and hands busying themselves with the clothes. Soon enough everything they’ve pulled out so far is packed, and Tony’s venturing off to grab socks, underwear, and gloves. They’re added to the suitcase with care, before Tony moves to the bathroom to get toiletries.

“We’re going to want to get me a toothbrush and we’re going to want lube for this trip,” Tony realizes when he comes back with the toiletries and starts packing those, too. “Maybe my own deodorant, too. Am I forgetting anything, Mr. Stark?”

“Nothing I can think of, Tony. HOMER, you heard the man,” Peter calls out to the AI, knowing he’ll have those things waiting at the airfield for them.

“Yes, Mr. Stark,” HOMER says meekly. “Do you have a preferred brand of lube or deodorant I should know about?”

“Get the good lube. Actually, get a few varieties, just in case,” he says, after supplying Tony’s favorite brand of deodorant. “Anything you want to add to the order?” he asks Tony, just in case he can think of something else he’d like to have.

“Nope, I think that’s everything, Mr. Stark,” Tony says with a smile, giving Peter a quick kiss on the cheek. He pats everything down in the suitcase, and pulls the belts that keep all the clothes down into place, before closing the bag and zipping it shut. He looks pretty proud of himself for packing everything. “I think we’re ready to get going now. I just need to make a call to get the jet ready.” So Tony goes about doing that.

“Tony,” Peter says softly, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Technically, I have to do that, at the moment. Nobody knows you’re back yet,” he reminds his husband, hating that he can’t just let the other man do what needs to be done. But, odds are good if Tony tries to make the call, he’ll be dismissed as a prankster and the jet won’t get prepped.

“Oh, right. Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Tony mumbles, embarrassed. So he abandons being useful for wrapping his arms around the other man, and laying his head on his shoulder, giving a little kiss to the corner of his jaw. He sighs contently as Peter makes the call, and just stands there clinging to him.

Peter wraps comforting arms around Tony, holding him tightly as he instructs HOMER to dial the phone for him and makes the arrangement. Once the line’s been disconnected,he murmurs into Tony’s ear, “We’re gonna get this fixed. As soon as we get back. We’ll call the lawyers from the sky and have them start undoing things, so we don’t have to wait until you make your announcement.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Tony murmurs, pecking another kiss to the corner of Peter’s jaw. Then he lets him go, and grabs the suitcase and garment bag with the suits in it. “Okay, ready when you are, sir,” he says brightly, all ready to go. Oh. Wait. “HOMER? Make sure FRIDAY remembers my phone charger, so I don’t have to keep borrowing Mr. Stark’s, okay?”

HOMER gives the affirmative, and then the two men depart Peter’s apartment. He looks down at his phone to see who from Stark Industries going to be driving them and grins. “Are you ready to see a grown man cry? Happy’s our driver today.”

“We could try to pass me off as some kid you found, but making Happy cry works, too,” Tony murmurs, standing there like a little punk with all the other man’s luggage. He likes this role reversal. It’s nice. They wait there a few minutes, Tony having his hood up at this point and looking down at his feet when Happy pulls up.

“Here, kid, I’ll get those,” Happy says gruffly to Tony, reaching for the suitcase. Peter sure didn’t wait long. Wait, that’s not fair. Maybe this kid is part of some program and Peter’s doing a good thing here. He shouldn’t jump to conclu-

“Thanks, Happy,” Tony says, patting the man on the shoulder and then trying to dart past to get in the car.

“What.” Happy gawks at the darting little shit, also known as Tony Stark. He gets between him and the car door, and blinks hard, staring at him. “You’re supposed to be in stasis.”

“I was. I’m back now,” Tony tells him with a cheeky grin.

Happy’s eyes start filling with tears, before he coughs against his own shoulder and mumbles something incoherent, getting the door for Tony and Peter. He goes about putting the luggage in the trunk, and getting into the car to drive, sniffing a bit to himself.

Peter’s silent for the drive, hard at work on his cell phone, because taking a week off doesn’t mean the emails stop. He pauses occasionally to glance over at Tony with a warm smile, but leaves him to his own devices.

Then there’s a whirlwind of getting to the airport and boarding the plane. The strippers that Tony once hired as flight attendants have been replaced with career flight staff, two women and a man. All three of them make a big fuss over Tony and get him and Peter settled with matching bourbons.

Soon enough, they’re jetting across the country, and Peter finds himself counting down the minutes until they can see the Rocky Mountains, so he can make good on his promise to Tony.

Finally, it’s time, and Peter dismisses the flight staff in a firm voice, then turns his attention to Tony. “Get on your knees, Tony. I’ve been waiting hours for this.”

Tony sucks on a piece of ice that had been in his bourbon, before tucking the cube into his cheek as he murmurs a soft, “Yes, sir.” He gets down on his knees in front of his husband, leaving the glasses on as he opens Peter’s belt and the front of his trousers. He fishes out his cock, giving it slow stroke, rolling the ice over his tongue. Then he lowers his head, giving the tip of his cock a firm suck, cool tongue lapping over the slit as the ice is tucked into his cheek once more.

“That’s perfect,” Peter whispers hoarsely, eyes darkening as he watches his husband do that magic trick with the ice cube. He groans deeply, a hand raising to smooth through Tony’s hair as his cock hardens in the other man’s mouth. That cool, sucking mouth is going to be his undoing sooner, rather than later, he can already tell. Then again, he’s so ramped up on anticipation that coming almost feels imperative already.

Tony leans into the hand smoothing through his hair, his right hand gently stroking that hardening cock. He releases the head of that cock with a soft popping sound from his mouth, then lowers his head to lap from the man’s balls in a slow, cool feeling path up the underside of his erection. He makes a soft sound over how good that cock tastes, then sinks his mouth down over the head again. This time he presents the ice to the heated head of that cock, before slowly dipping his head down further, letting the ice trail down the underside until the head of Peter’s cock is bumping against his throat. He gags prettily, and tucks the melting ice to the side again, letting what little is left disappear in his cheek.

Peter raises his hips to push a little more against the back of Tony’s throat, murmuring words of appreciation and adoration while Tony gags on his cock. The thicker ropes of saliva feel even better, cool as the rest of Tony’s mouth, but warming with each short thrust he gives the other man’s mouth as the ice melts away to nothing. After a few minutes of just raising and lowering his hips, he stands, tucking his tie into his shirt, so it doesn’t impede his view of Tony’s sucking. Both hands slide into that thick, black hair and Peter pulls back so that only the head of his cock remains in Tony’s mouth before he pushes back in, setting up a slow rhythm.

Soft whimpering sounds when Peter stands and starts to slowly fuck his mouth, big, dark eyes staring up at the other man through his glasses. A soft gag accompanies every push against his throat, but as long as Peter doesn’t push further than that to test how bad Tony is at deep throating, the gagging stays mostly under control. A deep arousal and love shine through those eyes behind his glasses, Tony just adoring the man whose cock he’s sucking. Or, well, now, more like just taking in his mouth like a pretty, submissive bitch.

Peter’s hips speed without testing the back of Tony’s throat more than he already has, and then, he’s pulling from that warm, wet mouth and wrapping a fist around his cock to pump at it. “Open your mouth, Tony,” he says tightly, and when the man complies he starts to come, two long thick ropes of the liquid splashing onto the lenses of Tony’s glasses, to drip down onto his cheek. The third, fourth, and final spurts are delivered onto his husband’s tongue with a loud grunt, his hand sliding one more time to make sure there’s not a drop of cum left behind. “Beautiful,” he rasps out, staring at his handy work. He uses a finger to scrap the cum off his cheek and into his mouth before he commands him to swallow.

Tony swallows with a soft sound, then opens his mouth again to show Peter it’s clean. He stares up at his husband through the cum stained lenses of his glasses, cheeks a little red from how embarrassed and painfully aroused he is from what they just did. “Thank you, Mr. Stark,” he breathes out, just kneeling there so Peter can look his fill at what he’s done to him.

Peter looks long enough to take a mental image of Tony on his knees with those cum-stained glasses, looking perfectly submissive. Then, he’s removing the glasses, folding them and setting them gently aside. He offers out a hand to help his husband to his feet, then opens his fly, reaching inside to wrap a heated hand around his cock, stroking it as he backs him to a long sofa and down onto his back. He climbs between his knees, opening his belt and his button, then pulling his jeans down to his knees, baring Tony’s erection. 

Surveying his husband for a long minute, Peter speaks slowly, telling Tony what’s going to come next. “Now, I’m going to return the favor. And I’m going to get my finger good and wet and slide it inside you while I work. You’re going to take my fingers while I suck your cock, and when you cum, I’m going to feed it back to you. Do you understand, Tony?”

“Yes, sir,” Tony breathes out, appreciating everything being explained to him. It just makes him anticipate it all the more. He sits up on his elbows as he stares up at his husband, his cock throbbing visibly against his stomach. “I love you, Mr. Stark,” he blurts out eagerly, earnestly, big dark eyes staring at the other man as he bites at his own lower lip, trying to contain himself.

Peter moves up Tony’s body to give him a long, deep kiss. “I love you, too, Tony,” he swears it in a deep voice, then he slides back down and wraps his lips around his cock, sucking it hungrily into his mouth. Within a few bobs of his head, he has it buried in his mouth, the head bumping his gag reflex as he works. When deep throating his husband’s cock has caused his saliva to thicken, he pulls back, sucking his fingers into his mouth, just the way he promised, getting them good and wet before bringing them to bear against Tony’s opening. 

He slides gently past the band of muscle, watching his husband’s expression, until his fingers are buried to the base knuckle, then he goes back to sucking hard, like he’s starving for that cum he plans to feed to Tony. His lips slide easily against the satiny skin and he presses his tongue into the underside as he works.

God, Peter is so good at everything he does. Tony’s left to fall back against the couch again, so he can better, if gently, arch his hips into the penetrating fingers. His breath catches when they bury to the base knuckles, the combination of having his cock sucked and being penetrated just feeling fucking fantastic. “That feels so good, Mr. Stark,” Tony breathes out roughly, dark eyes staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t want to get loud. He doesn’t want to make the flight staff in the back uncomfortable if they can hear. They can probably guess what’s going on even if they can’t hear anything yet, but best not to push his luck by moaning loudly. So a hoodie covered arm goes over his mouth, and he bites down.

Peter doubles down on sucking Tony’s cock, dark eyes taking in the way he’s biting at his own arm to keep from being loud. He wants to earn a moan, even if it’s muffled, wants to push his husband past reason. The hand not thrusting long fingers into his ass, slides up his stomach, beneath the hoodie, finding a small nipple and giving it a tweak while he sucks.

Really, Peter is playing Tony like an instrument, and it’s only natural that the result produces sound. Tony moans hard against his arm, the sound muffled somewhat, but certainly audible to Peter. In the next moment, a frantic noise is made, and his hips buck upward, his cum released and filling his husband’s mouth. His ass clenches over and over again on the fingers inside it, like trying to milk a cock inside him. Then he’s panting, riding lightly against the fingers buried in him as he starts to come down from his orgasm.

Long fingers slide from Tony’s body as he comes down from his orgasm, petting lightly at his entrance before Peter raises his head and crawls up his husband’s body, kissing him hard, and letting his seed trickle into his mouth on the thrust of his tongue. He keeps the kiss long and sensuous, then raises his head to watch Tony, uttering the word, “Swallow,” one more time.

Tony swallows eagerly, thinking about all the cum settling deep in his belly from what they’ve done on this plane. He makes a needy sound, lifting his head for another kiss, an arm curling around Peter to cling to him. When that kiss breaks, he pants softly against Peter’s lips, hazy eyes staring at his husband. “I love you. I love you so fucking much.” He pushes up with a hand against the couch, and guides Peter to sitting up at the same time. He gets the man in a good sitting position, then works on fixing his jeans, tucking his cock away before settling into his lap, resting his head on his shoulder.

Peter wraps his arms tightly around Tony’s body, keeping him close, his hands sliding up and down his spine through the hoodie. “I love you, too. More than anything in this world,” he swears as he rains adoration and attention down on his husband. “You’re perfect, Tony. Absolutely, fantastically, perfect.”

“So are you,” Tony mumbles, kissing his cheek before nuzzling it. “I’m so lucky.” He feels full and sated and happy. And he’s gonna stop being in sub space any second now so Peter gets a turn. Or maybe naw, later, because Peter’s got on the Dom outfit and he’s wearing the sub outfit and let’s not mess up a good thing. He yawns cutely, cementing himself in sub space as he closes his eyes and relaxes against his husband.

“You hungry or thirsty?” Peter asks, speaking into Tony’s ear, recognizing that the other man is in the deepest sub space he’s ever seen him in, and wanting to make sure his needs are being met. Loving hands continue to caress and pet the other man, without pause, while he waits for an answer.

Tony hums, and thinks about that question for a long moment, yawning again. “Both, sir,” he says softly, back gently arching into the petting hands. “Think we could have the staff come back and feed us? I wonder what they’re doing right now. Maybe playing poker.” He yawns yet again, muffling the sound against Peter’s expensive suit jacket covered shoulder.

“Here, lay down. I’ll take care of it,” Peter says, lifting Tony to drape him across the sofa, and grabbing a blanket from an overhead compartment to wrap around him. He tucks it in tight, then rises to go to the break area for the staff, requesting a meal and drinks. He’d just get them himself, but he figures he’ll make a mess of trying to use the galley, since he doesn’t know where anything is, or even what is in there.

Within minutes, he’s returning to the sofa, propping Tony’s head in his lap as he strokes the man’s hair and murmurs that food and drinks are on the way.

Wrapped tightly in a Tony Tamale, Tony dozes lightly with his head on Peter’s lap, soaking in all the strokes to his hair. He mumbles his appreciation for Peter taking care of getting them food and drinks on the way, then sleep takes him, the old man in a young man’s body falling fast asleep while Peter watches him and strokes his hair.

 

#

 

Tony and Peter spend the first few days of their honeymoon exactly the way they planned it. They play in the snow, then come inside and have cocoa by the fireplace, which invariably leads to them having each other. When the yard is dotted with snowmen and they’re out of cocoa mix, they turn their attention to the entertainment center, snuggling on the couch and watching film after film while the snow falls heavy outside.

On their fourth day, they decide it’s time to venture out for a night on the town, and also some more cocoa mix.

Peter puts on the suit Tony picked out for him, and settles on the sofa, waiting for his husband to make his appearance. His mouth waters in anticipation, because he saw the suit Tony was going for and it’s a good one. Then, the bedroom door opens slowly, and Peter stares hard, waiting to see the goods.

Tony ventures out, fussing distractedly with a cuff link. He’s got on a black suit that’s got a satin finish to it, with a gold button down under it, and a hotrod red tie over that. Someone went for Iron Man colors. Dark eyes look up through his tech glasses to see Peter staring at him, and he grins. “Hey, handsome.”

Peter’s eyes gloss over when he sees Tony, and he stands so he can stalk over and tip his head back for a kiss. “You look amazing. I’d keep you here tonight, and do all kinds of wicked things with you, if it wouldn’t deprive the rest of the town of seeing you in that suit. Iron Man.” That last is delivered affectionately, Peter straightening his already straight tie.

That kiss is delivered, and then Tony’s murmuring against the other man’s lips, “Don’t worry. We can do the wicked things later.” He straightens as his already straight tie is adjusted, and then he steals a second kiss, hands going to Peter’s hips. “I think our coats are hanging near the door. Once we get those on, and the scarves and hats and gloves, we should be ready to go out into Snow Village, right?”

“All bundled up like that one kid in that really old movie with, ‘You’ll shoot your eye out,’” Peter says, by way of agreement. He rests his hands on Tony’s hips in kind, giving them a squeeze before he break away and leads them to their coats and wrappings. Grabbing Tony’s coat first, he holds it out for the other man, then wraps his scarf around his neck and tucks his hat on his head with another little kiss. “You look good enough to eat, in that cashmere,” Peter murmurs throatily. He’s really glad that Tony can afford this wardrobe that makes him look like a wet dream come to life.

“Cashmere is so soft,” Tony murmurs with a silly little grin for Peter’s throaty murmuring. He leans in and gives his husband a soft kiss, then husks against his mouth, “Ready to go when you are.”

“I’m ready, Mr. Stark,” Peter says easily, taking his husband’s hand and tugging him toward the door, then letting him take the lead, since he’ll be driving. He climbs into the soft leather seats of their rented Audi, and buckles his seat belt while he watches Tony come around the front end of the car and reaches over to open the door from the inside.

The roads are clear and perfect, since this entire mountain is a playground for the wealthy. The cabins would be considered mansions in most of the rest of the country, and the ski lodge at the top of the mountain has a three star Michelin chef on staff to keep the socialites well-fed.

When they arrive to the lodge, they leave their coats with the girl at the door, and head to the lounge for drinks, knowing the maître d' will come find them when their table is ready for them. They’re the Misters Stark; good things come to them.

Sometimes, when Tony is at his happiest, his mind wanders to Strange. Hell, to be fair, it wanders to the man when he’s in any kind of mood. If he was the specter between Strange and Peter keeping Peter loyal to him, then Strange is the specter between Tony and Peter keeping Tony on his very best behavior. So much guilt weighs heavily on the man’s heart, making it feel like it’s beating slower, making the air in the room feel thick around him.

That’s just how it is. Sometimes Tony looks off into space and feels that way, until Peter’s gentle voice snaps him out of it.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Tony says when Peter asks if he’s okay, taking a drink of his Scotch. He leans in for a short kiss, then gives Peter a wink he wants to feel, but doesn’t quite.

Tony’s not fine, Peter can see that, but he doesn’t call him on it, instead filling the silence with plans to ski, until he remembers some good news for Tony. “I’ve been talking with the lawyers via email this week. They have everything almost sorted out already. By the time we get back to New York, you’ll be able to walk right back into your life. It’ll be like none of this ever happened.” There’ll be a little press release, but no press conference for him to have to deal with.

“No press conference then? But I love those,” Tony complains with a grin, waggling his eyebrows at Peter. Tony is such an attention whore. He has another sip of his Scotch, and slowly, steadily, Strange floats to the back of the man’s mind again, instead of the forefront.

“If you want a press conference, I can have Pepper schedule one,” Peter assures him in a mild tone. He wasn’t sure where Tony’s head would be on the subject, so he arranged a press release, instead, but they can have a press conference. God knows there’ll be enough interest in having one, with the Tony Stark coming back, basically from the dead.

“Yeah, I mean, you know how much I love an audience,” Tony murmurs. He’s got great crowd control, really, and there’s no better place to practice it than at a press conference. He polishes off his drink when the maître d' comes to fetch them for their table, Tony walking with his usual swagger and sitting in his chair.

Peter can’t help but to stare as his husband walks ahead of him. He licks suddenly dry lips, when Tony settles into that chair with his usual thigh splay, and sits across from him, dark eyes boring into his, until the maître d' leaves the table. “You’re the sexiest man here. You’re the sexiest man anywhere, and I get to be taken home by you tonight. That makes me the luckiest man here. Or anywhere.”

“No arguments here,” Tony murmurs, all that confidence just oozing off of him even more with his husband’s words. “To be fair, though, I’m also lucky.” The compliment to both himself and his husband makes him grin a little. “If you hope to get through dinner without being dragged off for sex before we’ve had our entree though, I’d stop looking at me like that.”

“We could get a room here at the lodge,” Peter says, with a waggle of his brows and a grin. “Go have sex, then come back for our entree.” He’s teasing, but only just, because right now he cares less about food than he does staring at his husband. “But, then, I guess there’s something to be said for the slow tease, too.”

“We don’t have lube, and before you point out the possibility of lube in the gift shop, I’m voting for the slow tease option. I think if you’re this worked up now, I’m really going to like it when you’ve been driven to madness,” Tony decides, looking over his menu like he can actually focus to read it right now. He can at least look at the… Okay, there’s no pictures. That makes sense. This isn’t Chili’s.

Peter lets out a tortured groan and rubs his face. “You drive me crazy, Tony. Just by existing. You sitting across the table from me, intentionally driving me nuts? That’s just torture,” Peter decides, but he, too takes up his menu, which is, thankfully in English. He’s been learning French, among other things, to better wine and dine potential clients, but it’s still a relief not to have to read it on a date.

“That sounds like a personal problem you’re going to have to take up with the complaint department,” Tony murmurs, glancing up from his menu to give Peter a wicked smile. He looks back down at his menu, takes a calming breath, and just as he’s getting ready to read, the server appears, telling them about the specials and asking them what they’d like to drink. Tony votes for a soda, even if the server might have expected something fancier, like wine. He’s just really craving himself a soda. And Tony’s not one to deny himself his cravings.

An hour later, the tension at the table is unbearable, and dessert is all but over. Peter licks the last of the creme brulee from his spoon and sets it down, watching as Tony finishes his last bite of some sort of chocolate mousse that looked like sin. “So...” he says tightly, every muscle in his body tense and ready for more. “Do you want to go back to the cabin, or would you rather dance in the lounge?” Oh, Peter. You glutton for punishment.

“Let’s dance in the lounge,” Tony says, before he laughs quietly. “No, actually, I don’t think I can do that.” Dark eyes lift to his husband’s. “I want you too badly to tolerate dancing. I want you in bed.” Tony rises from his chair, and steps over to Peter’s seated position, a hand resting on his shoulder. He bows to speak into his ear. “I want you in every way I can have you. And there are so many fun ways we can have each other.”

Peter’s pulse quickens for the words and he tips his head back to stare into Tony’s eyes. “I think it’s time to go, Mr. Stark,” he says quietly, his voice heavy with arousal. He pushes back from the table, and stands, letting Tony lead him from the room, the check already taken care of before dessert was finished. 

Once back at the cabin, he turns to face Tony, and his hands go to his tie, opening the knot and letting it hang around his neck. He begins to undress slowly, just out of reach of the other man, then starts to lead the way into the bedroom, leaving a trail of expensive suit in his wake.

As Tony strips down in quick, decisive motions, he thinks to himself how grateful he is for every moment given to him with Peter. Some of their time together has been stolen, but perhaps that was simply what they needed to not become complacent in the present, and the future. Who really knows? It’s the gratitude he holds onto as he steps into the bedroom after his husband.

#

Tony manages to hold out the last three days they scheduled for the honeymoon, and then they’re heading back to New York, with things already in order with the penthouse. Things just feel better knowing he’s going to be able to sleep in his own bed again with his husband. All they have to do is get through the press conference, and then they can finally go home.

Cameras flash as soon as he enters the room, and, really, it feels good. Rhodey hugs him tightly, waiting for him and Peter to come up to the podium, and that inspires even more cameras going off. When Tony turns to the crowd of reporters, he speaks into the microphone.

“Alright, I promise, I’ll stick around for more pictures after the press conference,” Tony begins, only for the floor to erupt in questions. “And I’ll answer questions after I’ve made my statement.” The floor settles down. 

“Everyone, have a seat. I like being the tallest in the room,” he says next, to which there’s a low murmur of laughter, people taking their seats once more. He doesn’t bother with cards, because he never sticks to them anyway. “Thank you, everyone, that honored my memory while I was… gone. That means a lot to me. Thank you, also, especially to you, Peter, for not declaring me dead. That would have sucked.” Cue quiet laughter from the press. “I’m back now, with a clean bill of health, and I look forward to doing my thing where I help save the world, and watch Peter run the company. Didn’t he do a great job of it while I was away?”

Tony pauses, then says after considering, “Pepper Potts is a wonderful mentor, and this company owes her a debt of gratitude for getting everyone through a very tough time. Without her, I’m certain things would have been much harder. So, thanks, Pep, for not pointing and laughing while watching Stark Industries potentially crumble.”

A hand lifts to scratch at his jaw a moment, and then his voice gets softer, “And, finally, I’d like to thank those that sacrifice in silence. That won’t be heard here, or anywhere, not for a long time, if ever. What you do means a lot to me, to Peter, to the company, and even to the world. You know who you are, and you keep everything going. Thank you.”

There’s a confused murmur for that little speech, then Tony grins, and says, “Alright, who wants pictures of me kissing Peter?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter concludes Sparks Fly. Thank you so much for reading and for your comments. We appreciate each of you and hope you enjoyed the story.
> 
> There is an epilogue, but if you're her solely for the Starker, you may want to steer clear, as it has to do with Stephen's awakening and not the story of Tony and Peter.


	15. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This epilogue deals with Stephen's awakening, and gives him his own ending. Don't read this if you're going to be upset by something that isn't Starker. Do read this if you want to find out what happens for Stephen.
> 
> Thank you.

The book was red leather with a blue spider emblazoned on its cover and gold-tipped pages. There was no mistake about who’d left it there, so it would be the first thing Stephen saw when he opened his eyes.

Breath. Light. Sensation. It’s all back in his body again, instead of living in the astral realm, or in Peter’s dreams. Stephen has eagerly awaited this moment, and now it’s here, as real as the hard floor beneath his knees, and the book resting in front of him. Scarred hands reach for the book, knowing it must be from Peter. Peter, who’s long since dust by now, Stephen imagines. It feels like his last visit to the man in his dreams was ages ago, and yesterday all at once. It’s so difficult to tell time in dreams. So, with a deep breath to hold back the agony that threatens to well inside him, he picks up the book, immediately beginning to read it.

Dear Stephen.

I’m not going to write in this book daily, because that would be a lot of reading when you wake up, and most of it would be pretty boring. But, I am gonna write the important parts of my life. The things that wouldn’t have happened without you. Because I want you to see how much you did and how grateful I am for it. Every day.

Just like I say your name. It breaks my heart a little, when I do it, but for just a second, I can almost feel you, and it’s worth how much it hurts, just to have you kind of close. I miss you.

 

#

I took over as the CEO of Stark Industries today. There was a press conference, and then Tony threw a big party to celebrate. He says the big parties are half the fun of the job, but I was just glad I didn’t throw up on a reporter during the press conference. I trained a lot with Pepper for it, and I knew all the talking points, but saying it to a room full of reporters and cameras was just... I don’t know. Intense. Scary.

#

Team Stark had a big fight today. The Avengers might have helped a little bit. It was the end of the world, and I really thought we weren’t gonna make it. I wished for you so hard. You would have known what to do, and we barely managed to scrape through. We lost a few, though. I can’t talk about it right now. Maybe later I’ll tell you everything, but not right now. Right now, I just have to focus on the fact that the world is gonna pull through again.

#

Tony found a grey hair today. Since he’s technically younger than me, I’ve been laughing at him all day. He is not amused, but I know you would be. He’s been pouting all day, and it’s adorable, but I have to go give him hell again for a minute.

#

Stephen. I miss you.

#

Today was the five year anniversary of the day we came back from Mexico. The beginning of the rest of my life, and the end of the life we shared. I miss those times, and I never thought there was anything to miss. Not until you were gone. I wish we could have one more shot of tequila, ride the mechanical bull, and give Rico a hard time.

I wish for more time with my best friend. You should be here now, so we could go to the Friendly Dolphin and celebrate our time there.

#

I’m officially thirty, today. Tony and I decided that since the two years in Mexico technically didn’t happen, it would be less confusing just to stick with the timeline that the other seven and a half billion people know about. Personally, I think he just likes being older than me. 

So, I’m officially thirty today. Maybe I’d feel more something, if a part of me wasn’t insisting that I turned thirty two. Mostly I just feel like something is missing. Something more than you, I mean. I don’t know. Maybe that’s what turning 30 is supposed to feel like. If you were around, I’d start pouring shots and drink until the question fell out and you could be all wise and tell me I’m an idiot. In your very nice way of never actually saying that.

#

Tony and I have been fighting on the subject of kids lately. I want them now, he wants to wait. It’s the craziest fight in the world, because we both want them, and thirty two seems like a great age to start. At least to me. He thinks that we should wait five more years. Neither of us wants to budge. I guess he’ll win out, since I can’t very well do it without him. Well, technically I could. But, I wouldn’t. I just think it’s time for a new generation of Starks. Wish you were here to either talk me down or tell Tony he’s being an ass on the subject.

#

We lost the battle, but we won the war. Stephen, I don’t know what to do anymore. No matter what we do, there’s always another threat. They just keep coming, and I keep watching my friends die. Nobody you knew this time, some younger members we recruited a few years back. Younger than me, if you can imagine it. I’m used to being the kid, and now I’m the grown up. How did that happen? How did any of it happen?

Tony decided he doesn’t want to wait for kids, after all. I guess that means the two year feud can come to an end. He says he doesn’t want to leave a world without something of mine in it. Right now, I can’t imagine bringing another life into this mess But, it’ll take months to find a surrogate, and then most of a year after that for the baby to come. Maybe I’ll change my mind again.

#

Our baby is going to be a boy. We just found out today. We’re going to name him Stephen, because what else could we call him? It was Tony’s idea, not that I wasn’t already thinking it. But, he blurted it out first, so it’s officially his idea. So, you have a namesake coming soon, and I wanted you to be the first person I told. I miss you, Stephen.

#

So, I’m not going to bore you with all of little Stephen’s milestones, but his first word was Daddy, and he was looking at me when he said it. Tony’s proud and jealous, and I have never been happier than I am right now. Thank you.

#

It’s Stephen’s first day of school, and I’m a wreck, waiting for him to come home. Dropping him off and leaving him there was seriously the hardest thing I’ve ever done. He didn’t even miss us, when we left, at the end of the parent orientation. He’s such a big little man. Tony made over, even if he looks like me.

# 

Graduation day. It feels like yesterday we were dropping Stephen off at his first day of kindergarten, and now he’s valedictorian of his class, and heading to MIT, just like his dad. I’m so proud, and so old. Older than you were when you stopped aging. Old enough to have an adult son. Where does the time go, Stephen? On one hand, I want to go back and relive every single one of those days, but on the other hand, I know that you’re a day closer to freedom, and I wish they could go a little faster.

#

Another graduation. The big one, this time. Stephen’s going to be a Doctor, after today. It feels good, thinking about how the baby named for Doctor Stephen Strange grew into a man called Doctor Stephen Stark. There’s a sort of poetry to it, really.

#

Sixty-one, and I’m taking an early retirement from Stark Industries. Young Stephen is more than ready to take on the mantle of CEO, and it’ll be good to spend some downtime with Tony. We haven’t fought with Team Stark in years, leaving that to the little man, too. He’s such a good leader. Every inch Tony, but softer. I think he gets that from me. So, now, the Misters Stark are off to retire to a tropical paradise, where the world can forget about us, and I can spend every day on the beach, with a bottle of Dos Equis.

#

I guess I’m getting old. The milestones are fewer and further between. We have grandkids now. Twins. Stephen married a nice girl a few years back. She reminds me a little bit of Pepper, rest her soul. I’m seventy-five tomorrow, and I’m starting to get scared of how few days I may have left. I want to be as close to you as possible, before I go.

We tried working on the tech that Tony used to age himself down, but it’s just not very stable. There’s too much radiation, and we theorize that the arc-reactor absorbed enough of it for Tony to survive the procedure in the first place. We thought maybe... Well, it doesn’t matter what we thought, does it?

#

I lost Tony today, Stephen. He was ninety-seven, so it wasn’t completely unexpected. I just woke up, and he was gone. Like you. But, you’ll be back soon, and you’ll know that you bought me seventy five years of love and adoration, while you slept. I can’t complain, but I can see my days dwindling when Stephen and the twins look at me. Everytime they talk to me, they think it’ll be the last, and it was frightening, but now there’s a comfort to it. It’s a day closer to him, I suppose. I just have to think of it that way, or I’ll go crazy.

But, some days, I remember what it was like to swing through New York on a web, and wear the suit and fight with you and Tony by my side. Those were the days I lived. Now, I’m just alive.

#

Dear Stephen,

You’re going to be awake in twenty-five years, and I’m going to be there waiting for you. Or, I’ll be a pile of radioactive dust. Either way, I suppose this is my last entry in this book. I’ll be there to tell you the rest in person, or, well... I won’t. Wish me luck.

I love you, old friend.

#

Scarred hands gently close the book, Stephen listening to the noises outside the Sanctum. What world did he wake up to? And could Peter truly still be a part of it?

It would seem unlikely, given the lack of Peter standing before him now. Well, his friend certainly lived a rich, long life. He would have been a shadow without Tony. Stephen would have never been able to make him happy the way Tony Stark did.

Then, there's a knock on the front door, the magic of the house carrying the sound throughout the building. Frowning, Stephen rises from his kneeling position, the old red blanket falling from his shoulders, while the cape that had found its way over his civilian clothing gives a pleased shiver.

"Hello, old friend," Stephen murmurs, scritching the collar of the cape affectionately before making his way down the stairs, and opening the front door of his home.

"Hello. Sign, please," the apparent courier says, pulling up a holographic display in the air between his hands.

Stephen hesitates, then takes a guess and just signs with his finger. That seems to be right, because the courier nods and gives him an envelope, before leaving for a car floating near the sidewalk.

The sorcerer closes the door and opens the letter, reading what's written carefully.

I'm waiting for you on the beach. Come find me, if you'd like.

There's no signature, but who could it be from, if not Peter?

Hope soars in Stephen's chest, and the man throws a portal up into the air, stepping through and onto their favorite beach in Mexico. Multicolored eyes look around, and try to see if he can spot Peter.

Then his eyes light on a man, sitting beneath the shade of a beach canopy, a Dos Equis on one hand and a book in the other. He's older than Peter was, but he would be, wouldn't he? Even if Peter managed to make himself twenty, that was twenty-five years ago. He'd be in about his mid forties, not his mid twenties.

Stephen's cape gently flutters in the breeze as he makes his way to the man sitting with a book and reading. The sorcerer hopes this is Peter. With his heart in his throat, he swallows hard, and stares at the man when he rounds the canopy.

"Peter…" is gasped out.

Familiar dark eyes look up from a face that's sporting a few crow's feet. The little lines are more apparent, when Peter breaks into a wide, relieved smile. "Yeah, Doc. It's me," he stands and throws his arms around the other man, clasping him tightly. "I missed you, Stephen," he rasps out in an emotion thick voice.

Stephen hugs the man that looks to almost be his age, but he knows he’s been on this planet for much longer than that. The lump in his throat just gets bigger as he tries to imagine waiting so very long for Stephen to come back to him. A hundred years…

“I missed you, too, Peter,” Stephen says hoarsely. Time had not passed in a blink for Stephen, not with his magical awareness. He’d visited Peter’s dreams as the years passed, and read. So much reading. All things done to try to keep his mind active, to try to keep from going insane. Now that he’s walking again, and fully experiencing the world, it’s almost overwhelming. “Thank you for being here when I came out of stasis.”

“I was too close, not to see it through,” he jokes, without letting the other man go. He might never let him go, at this rate. “I mean, I was ninety-seven, give or take a year. What was another twenty-five for my best friend? I’ve spent them all here, in Mexico, remembering our time together. Thinking about how much time we could have here, on this beach, if you wanted to. Mexico hasn't really changed. It’s still like home.”

Stephen can’t seem to bring himself to let Peter go, either. It’s holding someone, and being held, when he hasn’t done either in a century. Not really. The dreams don’t feel nearly as tangible as this. He wets his lips, and lets out a rough exhale, eyes shut tightly as he just drinks it all in. “That’s a relief. Mexico being like home. You, waiting all this time for me? I’m so very grateful.”

“I was afraid you might not come,” Peter says solemnly. “A hundred years is a long time to wait,” and Peter knows, on instinctual level, that the time hadn’t passed for Doc the same way it passed for Tony. He could just tell the difference when he was near. Doc was still, but not lifeless, whereas Tony had just been empty. “I’m sorry I didn’t have the nerve to be there when you woke up. I thought you might need some time, and I thought you deserved the chance to decide if you wanted to see me.”

“I’ve wanted nothing more than to see you again,” Stephen assures Peter, finally loosening his arms from around the other man, so he can lean back and stare down into his eyes. Reverent, scarred fingers card through slightly shaggy hair, noticing the bit of grey at the temples. He wants to kiss this man, but he doesn’t want to make any assumptions, either. Having him in his life at all is enough. He doesn’t want to push for anything Peter might not like. “Is Rico’s club still standing?”

“The building is, but it’s not Rico’s anymore. Well, of course not. He’s been dust for a long time. But, it’s still there. Kind of run down, but it’s where I go to unwind from a long day of sitting on the beach,” Peter smiles up at the taller man. He can see the desire to kiss him is still there, but there’s time for figuring out what kind of relationship they might come to. No need to rush, at this point. “You want to go grab a drink there, or just stay here in the shade?” he motions to the previously unnoticed empty chair beside his and the ice chest between them.

“Let’s just stay here in the shade, for now. I’m not certain how I’d handle an entire room full of people at this moment,” Stephen murmurs, moving to sit in the empty chair. The cloak gets comfortable behind him, and he probably looks altogether bizarre, wearing it on a beach with clothes instead of swimming trunks.

Oh well. He’s a hundred and fifty years old now, so what damn does he give about impressing strangers?

Scarred fingers reach into the ice chest, and take out a Dos Equis, pleasantly surprised their brand is still around. He removes the top with the bottle opener, and has a drink, staring out at the ocean before them. “It tastes a little different, but close enough,” Stephen decides.

“Yeah, they changed the recipe, forty, maybe fifty years ago,” Peter tells him, lowering a pair of sunglasses onto his face to cover his eyes. He tips his head back, like he might be napping, but his eyes are open and alert behind the lenses. “A lot’s changed over the years, but a lot of stuff has stayed the same, too. I’m excited about discovering the differences with you. Everything just seems normal to me. It’ll be nice to see the world with fresh eyes.” he sounds like an old man, now. And he is old. Unfathomably so, at a hundred twenty-some odd years.

“I’m excited, too,” Stephen murmurs, despite how very calm he sounds. He reaches in the air, and conjures a pair of sunglasses, putting them on, to complete his beach look. “Excited, and hungry for actual food,” he rumbles after a moment’s thought. “Do you still make those amazing street tacos?”

“I do. And, I anticipated that you might say that. I have the meat already marinating, at home,” he tells Stephen, giving the man a wide smile. “I bought a little place on the beach, not a half mile from here. I usually stay a little closer to home, but I’ve been on this end of the beach, so you could find me, all week.”

An appreciative groan sounds at the mention of the marinating meat. His head turns toward Peter's in time to catch that wide smile, and he finds himself smiling back. "Thank you for making it easier to find you," he murmurs. "Also, you carrying all this stuff a   
half a mile? It's a little impressive."

"The canopy is super light and folds up into a backpack. The ice chest has a shoulder strap, and the chairs fold down pretty small, too. I designed then myself, a few years back," Peter explains, shifting a little in his seat and reaching out to pat the back of Doc's hand, just to prove to himself that he can. "You want to head up now, or wait a while?"

The little pat makes Stephen swallow heavily. He stares down at the hand over his, and turns his, palm up, to touch the man's hand in return. It's a very light brushing motion, giving him a moment to swallow the lump in his throat again. "I'd like to see your home," he manages thickly.

Peter wraps his hand around Stephen's, and squeezes it softly. "Our home, if you want. I already had Eric - he's the sorcerer watching over the Sanctum these days - send some of your things down. Not all of them, in case you didn't come, but enough for you to be comfortable."

"Our home," Stephen chokes out the words as emotions overwhelm him. He squeezes Peter's hand in return, and wills himself to get his shit together. Nobody likes a mess, and Stephen feels like one, in this moment. "Thank you, Peter. I'd like that," he manages after a few seconds in a steady tone.

"Well, let's go get you some tacos, then," Peter says, standing and tugging Doc to his feet by their joined hands. He raises his sunglasses to perch on the top of his head, then reaches for Doc's shades and pulls them away, looking up into those pale multicolored eyes. "I'm so glad you're here, Stephen. I missed you more than I could ever tell you. Having you back with me... It feels better than you know." For some reason it had felt important to say that, and he'd wanted to look into his eyes while he did it.

A careful hand moves to cup the back of Peter's head, and then Stephen's head bows, brushing gentle lips to the other man's. "I kissed you so many times in your dreams," he breathes out across his mouth, teeth briefly closing over a soft lower lip, before he seals his mouth to the other man's. Lips coax lips to part, and his tongue slips inside, tasting the sweetness he's imagined for so long. A low rumble of arousal sounds in his chest, and fingers clench in Peter's hair.

Peter's chest feels full to bursting when Stephen seals his mouth to his and kisses him in earnest. He'd had his lifetime with Tony, and it had been a great lifetime. One he is thankful for every day, but this lifetime? This is the one he gets to spend with Doc, and it's just as precious to him. He's breathing heavily by the time Doc raises his head, and he smiles as he nuzzles the other man. "I've waited over a hundred years for that kiss. Every since the night you told me you love me, really." He presses another kiss to Stephen's mouth, before he adds, "It was worth the wait."

Multicolored eyes stare down at Peter’s, happiness shining in them. He’s forgotten all about how he feels like a mess, and now he’s just… Thrilled. “I’m going to kiss you enough to make up for a hundred years,” he rumbles, pressing a small kiss to Peter’s mouth afterward, fingers smoothing the man’s hair. It takes effort to pull away, but he manages it, before closing the ice chest and lifting it to carry it back to their home.

 

Peter collapses the canopy and fits it into its bag with shoulder straps, sliding it on, then picking up the two chairs. They fold automatically, once they've been picked up, and Peter leads the way up the beach to a small house. It's nice, without being too fancy; a wealthy man's getaway, only he's lived here for years now. 

Much of the house is covered with the things that had been in their Mexican apartment. All of it had, after all, been shipped to Sanctum Sanctorum. Doc apparently hadn't gotten rid of any of it, so Peter found it when he went to collect some of Doc's things. It's all antique, now, but he won't know that, and hopefully it will make the place feel welcoming.

"Let's get you some tacos," Peter says, setting the canopy and chairs down near the door, and taking the ice chest from Stephen to carry it into the kitchen. "I hope you're good with carne asada today. There's some guacamole in the fridge and chips in the pantry. Help yourself. You're home."

Stephen shrugs off his cloak, motioning for it to go hang itself up on the coat rack. Then he moves behind Peter, wrapping an arm around his waist, before rumbling to the back of his ear, “Carne asada is delicious.” His hand rests flat and low on Peter’s stomach, and his head bows to ply an open mouthed kiss to the side of Peter’s neck.

Peter groans and tips his head to the side, the ice chest set on the counter, forgotten in the moment it no longer occupies his hands. He raises a hand to trace at the back of the hand pressed to his abdomen, while his other arm wraps around Stephen's neck, keeping him close. "You're making up for lost time already, huh?" he asks, melting into Stephen's arms, his eyes closing to savor the sensation of the other man's mouth.

“Yes,” Stephen murmurs across Peter’s neck, liking the way the other man melts into him and keeps him close. “Should I slow down? Do you like slow?” The hand that’s not on Peter’s abdomen reaches to touch the man’s chin, turning his head just enough to make it easier to kiss along his jaw.

“We’ve been waiting a century, Stephen,” Peter chuckles richly as he turns his head. “This is plenty slow enough. And to answer your question: yes, I like it slow. I like it every way, but I want to savor you.” He turns his head further, so he can reach Stephen’s mouth with his own, kissing him deeply as he presses back against him, memorizing the feel of his broad chest and his narrow hips against his back.

There’s the beginning of an erection to be felt, with all that pressing back against Stephen, combined with the kissing, and the utter perfection of this moment. Then, the sorcerer is turning Peter in his arms to face him, and kissing him again, a hand fisting in his hair as he repeats the man’s words in his head. He wants to savor this moment. He wants to savor Stephen. Don’t get impatient. As he thinks those words, his tongue thrusts again and again into that sweet mouth, laced with the flavor of beer. When he lifts his head to break the kiss, the hand not in Peter’s hair presses to the man’s heart, feeling the steady thump of it. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers across the man’s lips, as if trying to comprehend just how very much so he is.

“I am yours, Stephen,” Peter breathes out against saliva damp lips. “I have been for so many years. Yours and waiting for you to come home to me.” Peter is a lucky man. He’s found true love not once, but twice in his extraordinarily long lifetime, and he’s going to do everything he can to protect it. He wraps his arms around Stephen’s neck, fingers diving into the salt-and-pepper strands, so he can grip the back of his head and offer up another kiss to the man he loves.

Stephen takes in those words, in awe of them. His. His Peter. It’s almost too good to be true, but now he’s kissing Peter again, and that anchors him to this reality where Peter really is his. Finally. After all this time. Stephen is a lucky man. He loves Peter, and he is loved. A sharp breath sounds as the sorcerer kisses Peter deeply, fingers curling in his hair. He can’t seem to get enough of these kisses, now that he’s really allowed to have them.

Drinking in that kiss, Peter steps back and slides onto the counter, pulling Stephen with him. He parts his knees for the sorcerer to stand between them, and breaks the kiss to stare into Stephen's eyes, now that they're about level. "I love you, Stephen Strange," he says, focusing on one eye and then it's differently colored mate, memorizing the difference between them.

Scarred fingers stroke at Peter’s hair as he watches the man study his eyes. “I love you, Peter,” he says solemnly. He almost says his last name, too, but he wonders if that would only remind him of his late husband. Selfishly, Stephen doesn’t want to share this moment with Tony. No more than he already is, bringing him up in his mind right now. Fingers smooth Peter’s hair, and trace along his jaw, the sorcerer steadily staring into dark eyes.

“Strange. When I did the time trick, I left everything else behind. And, I needed a new name. It felt fitting, at the time, but I’ll admit that right now? It feels a little bit egotistical.” He’d planned well enough to have a nest egg for himself, but he’s no billionaire, not anymore, and he hasn’t seen his family in years. He just couldn’t look them in the eyes, though he’d gone back for young Stephen’s funeral and he supposes he will for the twins, too, when it’s time. Nobody had spared a second glance for the young man in the back, not among the world leaders that were in attendance. After his moment of introspection he turns nervous eyes back to Stephen. “I can change it.”

“Why does it feel egotistical?” Stephen asks him quietly, even if his heart jumps at the prospect of Peter being Peter Strange. Fingers smooth along Peter’s jaw, then push back into his hair, stroking the strands again. Lips brush Peter’s mouth, just a brief exchange, before he’s kissing along his jaw, wanting to give him a chance to answer.

“Because I took your name. Without asking you first. Or, you asking me.” Peter looks incredulous that anybody could see it any other way. “Of course, it’s all kind of a moot point, if you don’t mind that I did it, isn’t it?” He doesn’t seem to mind, not unless it comes to him later that he does mind. Right now, he seems pretty at peace with it.

Stephen chuckles, leaning his head back to stare into Peter’s eyes. “Perhaps I appreciate your willingness to take what you want.” Fingers curl in the man’s shaggy hair again, and he presses a brief kiss to his lips. “You wanted my last name…” is rumbled thickly, scarred fingertips tracing down the back of Peter’s neck. “Peter Strange…”

“Yes. I wanted to feel closer to you. To remember why I was still here. That I was waiting for you,” Peter murmurs against his lips, leaning his forehead to press against the other man’s. “There were days that I needed the reminder to get me through,” he admits, silent a moment, just thinking and letting the once-familiar scent of his best friend wash over him.

"It must have been very difficult," Stephen breathes out, brushing another soft kiss to his lips. "Thank you for waiting for me, all this time. Thank you for being here with me, now. Thank you for the home you've given me," he whispers, touching a hand over Peter's heart again. "Thank you for loving me back."

“It was,” Peter says honestly, his left hand coming up to rest over Stephen’s chest, in return. “But this? This moment right here? Makes up for all of it. And every moment you give me after this? That’s just a bonus, Stephen. The whole rest of our lives is a bonus.”

Stephen. Peter keeps saying his name, and the sorcerer wonders if he’ll ever get used to it. Ever think it’s common, or something less than extraordinary to hear. His hand slides up from over Peter’s heart to cup his face, thumb brushing just under his lower lip. “I’m up for all the bonus I can get,” Stephen says with a soft laugh.

“You wanna start with tacos, or you wanna start with bonus?” Peter rumbles out, chuckling as the hand resting over Stephen’s heart clenches in his shirt, dragging him closer for another kiss. This one is hungrier than the others, his tongue tasting Doc before retreating, so that he can be tasted in return. 

Both hands end up in Peter’s hair, Stephen kissing him deeply, with excited thrusts of his tongue. Fingers clench in his hair to pull it gently, tipping his head back as he breaks the kiss, and kissing down the front of his throat. “Bonus,” he mutters against his skin, giving his throat a gentle bite, before hands go to the man’s shirt, and move to lift it up and over his head.

Beneath his Hawaiian print shirt, Peter is still hard, wiry muscle under smooth skin, and those muscles ripple as he raises his arms, then lowers them to start opening the buttons of Doc’s shirt. It’s been a hundred years since he put it on, but now, finally, Peter gets to take it off him, baring his broad chest. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, before he opens his mouth to nip at his clavicle, sucking lightly afterward.

Stephen shrugs off his shirt, dropping it to the floor, before both hands go into Peter’s hair and hold his head as the man lightly sucks at his skin. “I want so many unreasonable things right now,” the older man says softly, pressing a kiss into his hair. “I want to marry you. I want kids with you. I want to work as a doctor again and have a nice, normal life for awhile. I know I can’t have the last one, because I’m Sorcerer Supreme and keeper of the Time Stone. I know I probably can’t have the second one because our life won’t be normal enough for kids because of the last one. And the first one is unreasonable because we’re only just starting to discover each other in this way. But I love you, and you love me, and we’ve waited for so long…” His quiet voice trails off, and he nuzzles Peter’s hair gently.

“I want all of those things, Stephen,” Peter reassures him in a thick voice. “We’ll have kids, whenever you want them. And, I’ll marry you whenever you want me to, and the Order has been getting along without you for a century. If you want to take time away, you can do that, too,” he reasons out before he leans back and smiles up at Doc. “Marry me. I don’t want to wait. I want to be a Strange because you made me one, not because I decided to steal your name.”

 

“Did you just hijack my marriage proposal?” Stephen asks him, arching a brow. “Because I most certainly want to marry you, and now you’re making demands, and those demands happen to coincide with my wants.” A soft kiss is collected, the man thoughtful, and joyous all at once. “I probably need paperwork of some kind, unless no one pays attention to how old a man is on his identification anymore.” Now he’s just babbling about boring bits. Great.

“Wasn’t stealing your thunder, Doc. Just giving you a sneak peek at my answer,” Peter chuckles, sliding down from his place on the counter and stepping around Stephen to go into what is, presumably, a bedroom. He comes back with a lockbox and uses a fingerprint to open it, showing a collection of things too important to Peter to be left outside of this little fire safe. Atop an assortment of papers is his wedding band from his marriage to Tony, but he doesn’t really seem to see it as he reaches to the bottom of the stack and hands the sorcerer a passport, birth certificate, and Social Security card. “I had these made up at the same time I did mine. Yours all have you name... You weren’t exactly running away from a trillion dollar family or anything, so there was no need to change it.” Peter thought of everything, when he was trying to make life easier for Doc, upon his awakening.

“So long as I’m older than you,” Stephen says with a slight sniff, looking at the documents. He eyes Peter, then thinks about it. “I say I have at least five years on you.” Then he’s grinning, and holding the documents in one hand while his other cups Peter’s cheek, so he can tip his head just right to kiss him. He just can’t stop smiling, even against his lips. “Thank you, Peter.”

“There’s nothing to hold you back, Stephen. You can do anything you want with the rest of your life, now,” Peter mutters against his lips, smiling back and wondering what sort of adventures they may find for the rest of their days. “The only question is: what do you want to do first?”

The documents are carefully placed back in the box they came from, which is then closed, and set aside. Then hands go to Peter’s hips, and his mouth tastes the side of his throat. “I think we should discuss that, in detail, without clothes on and in bed.”

“Sounds like a great idea to me,” Peter says, grinning as hard as he ever has. He lets his hands slide from Stephen’s shoulders down to his hands, before lacing their fingers and leading him away from the kitchen to their bedroom. Their bedroom. Where they’re going to start the rest of their lives.

He feels lighter, freer than he has in decades and he squeezes Stephen’s hand. “I think we should start by talking about how great our life is going to be,” he says with a chuckle, closing the door behind them as he seals them into their new little world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the finality of Sparks Fly. Thank you, to those of you who stuck around to the epilogue. We appreciate you very much.


End file.
